Sweet You Rock and Sweet You Roll
by smc-27
Summary: Puck/Rachel summer fic: "It's my spotlight now," he reminds her. She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off. "My band, my song choices. I'm lead. If you want in, you can deal with it." 3-part story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is the runner-up fic I wrote for the Support Stacie auction. Good thing there was no word cap on this. It's long. It had to be broken up into three parts. It's about 30,000 words total.

Thanks to LunaMystik who gave me an absolutely awesome prompt. I'm so happy she likes it. I hope you do too!

* * *

Lima sucks.

No seriously. Like, it really blows.

It's summer! Puck should be chasing ass, sleeping until noon, drinking at night, and walking around flaunting his shit. (Seriously, have you seen his body? He keeps it in top shape for exactly this reason.) But fuck. When you're working five days a week, trying to prove (still) that you're not a fuck up, it leaves you kind of drained.

Honestly, that whole baby thing really messed him up, you know, emotionally or whatever. Not that he's about to admit that. To anyone. Ever.

It's really, really weird to know that he's got a kid out there. He knows he's going to end up being one of those douchebags who, as soon as the 18 years are up, goes searching for his kid. He's already way too curious about it. And yeah, his kid's adoptive parents are super cool and live in a nice house with a treehouse in the backyard. His daughter has an older brother, which Puck thinks is pretty awesome. He knows she's in good hands; he wouldn't have handed her over in the first place if he didn't approve of these people. (No really, he pissed Quinn off for like, months, because he could find something wrong with every couple she showed him. She sucked at picking.)

So yeah, he's cleaning pools, but that's just during the week and only until about 2:00, before the sun like, starts melting his face off. He's getting up at sunrise, which means that he's not...staying out until sunrise. He and Quinn are still paying off her hospital bills, little by little, so he doesn't even get to enjoy all his paycheck. He doesn't even remember the last time he actually had a drink.

Shit. This summer is seriously the worst ever. The only saving grace is that, like, all of his friends are around this year. They're working and stuff, usually opposite hours than him, but he can still catch a movie (lame) with Finn every once in a while, or play Call of Duty with Matt and/or Mike.

So yeah, his friendships are restored or whatever, you know, after he fucked everything up by nailing Quinn. But that wasn't an easy road. The only reason Finn even started talking to him again is because Rachel threatened him to within an inch of his life or something. Puck hasn't said thank you. He's sure Finn would have started talking to him eventually.

But yeah, right now? He's laying on his bed in his air conditioned house, thinking that summer sucks already and it's only two weeks in.

He doesn't think he's gonna make it.

His phone rings, and it's Quinn. Fuck.

Okay, it's not like they hate each other. Actually, they tried that whole dating thing for a few weeks before realizing that there's a reason they never dated in the first place. They like each other well enough, but as a couple? No. Not so much. He's too 'wild' (her word) and she's too 'Jesus Crazy' (his words) and they can appreciate one another as friends, which is actually pretty cool. And she doesn't even hate him anymore for, you know, knocking her up at 16. Sweet.

"Brittany's stupid brother is driving me crazy. Let's do something," she says as soon as he's answered the phone.

Yeah, she's living with Brittany. It's...interesting. He's pretty sure she's close to killing someone 90% of the time. It makes him laugh. (And Brittany's little brother is a total freak. Puck's given the kid pointers on how to make the girls crazy. It's awesome.)

"What do you wanna do?"

"Dairy Queen," she says, as though he should have already known the answer.

Yeah, she's been like, crazy about her food and diet and exercise or whatever, but Dairy Queen is the one thing she won't give up from her pregnancy. He doesn't really complain, because he's always been a fan of a cookie dough Blizzard.

"I'll pick you up in 10."

So yeah, spending the evening with Quinn at Dairy Queen? This is what his life has become.

Lima _sucks_.

* * *

Rachel Berry does not get bored.

She's too busy for that. She has a strict workout regimen that gets her up no later than 8:30 each morning. She has one lesson or another every day; voice, dance, acting, tennis. Her fathers work long hours, and she takes care of the house, sort of. She keeps things clean, makes dinner a couple times a week without being asked. She attempted to mow the lawn once (it had been ten days since her dad did it, and it was throwing off the balance of the neighbourhood) but that didn't work out so well, so she hasn't tried again. Every once in a while, she'll find some time to lay in the sun, covered in SPF 40 and wearing protective sunglasses with the two piece that no one else knows she has.

So no. She doesn't get bored.

However, she finds, two weeks into the summer, that she gets restless. Very restless. To the point of insanity. Well, not _actual_ insanity, but that's not the point. The point is, she really isn't used to just sitting around anymore.

You see, she had a boyfriend. An honest to goodness boyfriend. He was wonderful, a singer and dancer and total sweetheart who treated her like gold.

For a while.

She still doesn't exactly know what happened, what broke them up. She's driven, incredibly talented, and he knew that, liked it (loved it, if he wasn't lying) about her. But when the time came for their two glee clubs to take their rivalry to the stage, a concert set up by Mr. Schue and Ms. Corcoran, it seemed Jesse was either intimidated by her talent or, well, just a jerk.

They broke up two hours before the show.

Finn, the only one of the glee members who she'd actually consider her friend, hugged her and let her cry for five minutes, and then she insisted that she was fine, held her chin up, smoothed out her dress, and told Finn it was time to go kick ass.

And yes, she said ass. Finn smiled.

So what if Jesse got a whole lot of her firsts? He really was a wonderful boyfriend, and he was sweet with her when she was feeling insecure or left out or crazy. It was nice having a boyfriend from another school, an objective party to remind her that she's not a loser, that she'll never be a loser. And when they slept together for the first time (after one of his school dances that he took her to; held her on his arm like she was better than everyone there) he was perfect. He took his time and made sure she was comfortable and she loved him, she thinks, for that.

The long and short of it is, they broke up. He was her first real boyfriend (because _no_, eight days of kissing Noah Puckerman behind closed doors does not count) and it was nice while it lasted, and she's had her period of sadness, but it's over now.

She just wishes she had something to fill the time he used to take up.

She calls Finn, but it goes straight to voicemail, so she assumes he's working. She thinks about calling Tina, but she remembers the girl saying something about going to Artie's for the day, so she hangs up her phone and lets out a sigh. She could practice. She could take advantage of the fact that she has an empty house and sing until she doesn't feel like it anymore.

But she doesn't really feel like it in the first place. (But only because she had a two hour voice lesson that morning.)

Two weeks into summer, and she's already anxious for school to start.

She pulls on a summery dress, puts her hair up in a ponytail, swipes on some watermelon lip gloss, and grabs her keys.

She doesn't know where she's going until she sees that red and white sign in the distance. She mentally checks her schedule, knowing she doesn't have another voice lesson for two days and she can eat a whole lot of dairy without causing any real damage.

And she's always loved cookie dough Blizzards.

* * *

"Hey, isn't that Rachel's car?"

"Huh?" he asks, turning to look over his shoulder.

Yeah, that's Rachel's car. It's kind of awesome actually. She drives a brand new, bright red Accord coup. Totally not what he'd think she'd drive, but it's nice.

And he still thinks it's really fucking weird that Rachel and Quinn don't hate each other anymore. It's like like they're best friends or anything. They've like, hung out a couple times alone without killing each other.

This year has been so fucked.

Rachel smiles when she comes into the restaurant, waves and walks towards them. Puck can't help but notice that she looks hot in her purple dress and flip flops. She's really casual, like he's never really seen her. It's good.

"Hi," she says, tucking her keys into the little pocket on the skirt of her dress.

Puck wonders why dresses have pockets in the first place. Seems kinda stupid if you ask him.

"Hey Rachel."

"'Sup?" he asks, his mouth full of ice cream. She's staring at him. He figures he better talk before she lays into him about manners or some bullshit. "You gonna sit?"

"I'll order first. You don't have to stay. I'm sure you've got better things to do," Rachel says, flicking her wrist.

And see, this is what pisses him off about her. She's all self-deprecating (and he only knows what that means because she said that he's self-deprecating once) and she makes it sound like being around her is fucking torture or something.

It's really not.

It's not like he's her friend or anything, but she's not horrible, and he can sit there while she and Quinn talk about whatever bullshit they're going to talk about. Whatever. It's better than laying around at home doing nothing.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but she actually looks really, really cute," Quinn admits, smiling as she looks over at Rachel, laughing with the boy behind the counter. "Is she flirting!?"

Yeah, that gets Puck's attention. He looks over as the kid flips over the Blizzard and Rachel laughs. What the fuck is that? Ice cream? Really? That's all it takes to get her going?

"Yeah, she looks hot. She is hot. I don't know why you never saw that," he replies. Quinn is just staring at him. Fuck. "She's a freak and you're a bitch, but still."

Quinn scowls at does that thing where she clenches her jaw. "Do you have to be _such_ an asshole _all_ the time?"

When Rachel sits down, she notices the tension. Look between Puck on her left, and Quinn across the table, she wonders if she's missing something completely.

"If I'm interrupting, I can..."

"No," Quinn answers, plastering on a smile. "We were just wondering what's going on with you and the soft serve boy."

Puck clenches his fist. (What the fuck?)

"Oh!" Rachel laughs, covering her mouth as she swallows a bite. "He goes to Carmel. I met him a couple times with Jesse. They were on the same soccer team until Jesse gave up the sport to devote himself to the arts."

Puck scoffs and Quinn smiles. "How are you with that whole Jesse thing?"

"There is no thing," Rachel says seriously. "Our relationship ended. And that was three weeks ago. I'm fine."

"Sounding pretty defensive, Berry," Puck says. She's got a dab of ice cream on the corner of her lip. He does her a favour and reaches out to wipe it away. She looks seriously offended that he's touched her. Her eyes go wide when he licks the ice cream from his thumb. Cookie dough? He almost smiles. "Whatever. That guy was a douche."

"He was not!"

Quinn laughs and scrunches her nose. "Rachel, he kind of was."

Rachel stiffens, then stands from her place. "It was nice seeing you two. I forgot I have things to do."

She walks away and Puck and Quinn watch her go (Puck's the only one watching her ass, but whatever). She gets into her car and drives off, then Puck looks back at Quinn.

"Oops," she says. She actually sounds remorseful.

"Whatever. It's the truth."

"I know that," she laughs. "She's obviously not over it, though."

She reaches for her phone and keys in a message. "What are you doing?" he asks, leaning over the table.

"Apologizing. You know? That thing people do sometimes when they realize they're wrong?" she says, smiling at him.

"Never heard of it." He stands and pitches their empty cups into the garbage can. "Wanna catch a movie or something? This fucking town is killing me."

He turns off his phone when they're in the theater and forgets to turn it back on until he's home after dropping Quinn off. He has three texts. All from one person.

**Rachel 6:14** - _I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I suppose I'm just sensitive about the breakup, because I'm still harbouring feelings for Jesse, though they are certainly waning..._

**Rachel 6:16** -_ It was unfair of me to lash out like that when you were merely stating your opinion. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I know by now that there's no changing the way you speak..._

**Rachel 6:17** - _And yes, Jesse probably is what you called him._

He laughs to himself and grabs his guitar. She couldn't even type the word.

He wonders, just for a second, if he might be able to fold Berry into the group of people he could call when he gets bored. But then he thinks about spending time alone with her, and if he's not making out with her, he doesn't think he could handle it.

Then he thinks about making out with her and how awesome that was.

The summer heat is fucking with his head. Yeah. That's it.

* * *

When he finds himself strumming the chords to a Christina Aguilera song one day, he decides he needs to learn more tunes. Seriously, he's run out of shit to play, so he's playing shitty pop songs? No. That's just not kosher.

So he pulls up his favourite tabs website and pretty much looks for any song he thinks is awesome, printing off all the pages, despite the fact that it's costing him a fucking million dollars in paper. Whatever. He's got shit to learn.

But you know what sucks? November Rain, acoustic.

And then he gets this fucking wicked idea that he should like, win a prize for or something.

He's going to start a band.

That'll totally turn his summer around. Sex and rock and roll? Hell yeah. (No hard drugs, since he's not an idiot, and smoking weed is lame, so he probably won't do that either.)

Whatever. Point is? He's going to get his buddies together and rock the fuck out.

* * *

The next time Rachel sees Noah, he's wearing nothing but a pair of black and white board shorts and a pair of aviators.

No really, _nothing_. Not even shoes.

See, for some reason, Brittany invited her over to have a 'girls day' with she, Quinn and Santana. Why Rachel is lumped in with the Cheerios, she has no idea. All she was told was to bring a few fashion magazines, a snack of some kind, and a bathing suit. Could she say no? Absolutely not. What kind of team member would she be if she refused to take part in these bonding exercises?

So she shows up at Brittany's huge brick house wearing her simple black bikini beneath her red tank top and denim shorts. She's got a shopping bag full of Sunchips and virgin margarita mix, along with a couple magazines. She can do this. Brittany is a sweetheart, and she and Quinn get along well. Santana is another story, but Rachel honestly can't remember the last time Santana called her a name or replaced her hand cream with Nair. So that's something.

She hears laughter coming from the back of the house, so she walks around the stone path and sees Quinn, Brittany and Santana, all in matching Cheerio sanctioned bathing suits (she assumes Quinn is just wearing hers for fun), feet dipped into the pool as they laugh. Quinn's suit is a one piece, though Rachel isn't really sure why. The girl's body is pretty much the same as it was before she got pregnant. Rachel thinks that's really none of her business, though.

And Noah, standing on the other side of the pool with some kind of pool cleaning instrument in his hands.

Rachel swallows thickly as she watches the muscles of his arm move, the way his body seems to glow (no really, _glow_) in the summer sun.

"Hey Rachel!" Brittany calls out

She really, really hopes that no one caught her staring. "Hi," she chirps, walking up the steps to the deck. "I brought what you asked me to bring."

"Get out of your clothes!" Brittany says, making the other girls laugh.

Rachel doesn't miss the way Noah seems to start paying attention after that.

"I um...I don't match," Rachel says, gesturing to the other girls' suits.

Santana smiles (yeah, actually smiles). "You're nervous because he's here, aren't you?" she asks. Rachel doesn't say anything. She supposes that's not actually far from the truth. "Don't worry. He'll leer at you anyway. He's a jackass like that."

"Fuck you, San," Puck calls, still working on the pool.

Quinn starts giggling and takes a sip of her vitamin water. "Puck was just telling us how he and Finn are starting a band."

The rest of the girls start laughing even harder, and Puck looks pissed. Rachel actually doesn't think that sounds like a bad idea. Not at all. Finn is an adept drummer, and Noah wold make an excellent front man.

She honestly doesn't get what's so funny. She smiles at Puck and he looks back to the water.

"Look, are you almost done, because I'm getting really hot, here," Santana says, holding out her arms, checking for sunburn.

"Don't flatter yourself," he says seriously. "And you can get in while I'm..."

Fuck. He totally loses his train of thought, because Rachel starts unbuttoning her denim shorts, pulling them down her legs. And she fucking bends over to do it. Jesus. Suddenly he's reminded of why he _loves_ summer so much. She pulls her tank top over her head and _holy shit_. Her black bikini has this little silver heart in the middle of the top, right between her boobs, and it's fucking _hot_, dude.

"You need a glass of water?" Quinn laughs.

"Huh?" he asks, looking over at her. Rachel is still oblivious, adjusting the bottom of her suit at her hips. "Fuck you, too."

Rachel sits down beside Santana and distributes the magazines she brought, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes again as she dips her feet into the pool. She is acutely aware that there is a boy there. A really, really attractive boy who keeps looking her way. But she doesn't think much of it, because he's wearing sunglasses and she can't tell if he's really looking at her, or one of the other girls, or all of them, or maybe none of them at all.

When he's done, the girls are eating chips out of a big yellow plastic bowl, sipping virgin margaritas out of fancy glasses and pink straws. And he watches as Rachel laughs, totally fitting in with the other three girls. It's kind of nice, he thinks, to see them all getting along.

Not that he cares.

He walks over and steals a handful of chips before standing and looking down upon them. Rachel totally avoids him. What the fuck? And why does that bug him?

"I'm out. Brit, tell your dad he can pay me next week."

"Oh! I have the money!" Brittany says, hopping up and running back into the house.

She pats his chest on the way by, and he laughs because he doesn't really know why. She comes back out and all the girls laugh and whistle when she tucks the bills into the waistband of his shorts. He reaches out and smacks her ass, making her squeal, before she sits down.

"Alright, you girls have fun. If any making out happens, _please_ take pictures," he says jokingly.

Quinn throws a chip at his head.

Puck places his foot between her shoulder blades and pushes her straight into the pool.

The three other girls are laughing together, turning away and shouting when Quinn starts splashing them. Puck is pretty happy he's around to witness this. Four hot girls and a water fight? Not a bad image.

"I'm so out of here before she gets out and attacks me," Puck says, walking towards the edge of the deck. "Later!"

Rachel watches him disappear around the side of the house, and for some reason she feels the need to give him her vote of confidence regarding his band. The other girls just made fun of him for it, and Rachel thinks that maybe he won't do it if all he gets is ridicule. She knows him well enough to know that he's like her; he cares about what people think more than he lets on.

"I'll be right back," she says, getting up quickly and running after him.

Running in a bikini with no shoes on.

Not her best idea.

He's standing by his truck, loading his stuff into the back when she gets to the front of the house.

"Noah!"

He looks over at her and his smirk is pretty much instantaneous. His sunglasses are perched on top of his head. She watches him look her up and down. The pavement is hot beneath her feet, so she steps back onto the grass and he comes to her.

"What's up?" he asks, stepping a little too close. She doesn't really mind.

"I just wanted to..." Her breath catches in her throat when she notices a bead of sweat roll down his temple, then along the line of his jaw. "I um...your band. I wanted to tell you that I think it's really great that you're not just ignoring your talent, and..." She reaches up and brushes the sweat from his face. It doesn't gross her out. (It so should.) "I'm sorry. You just had..."

"'S'okay," he says, his voice low as he smirks at her. "And thanks."

She watches his adam's apple move as he swallows. "Artie."

"What?"

"Artie!" Her train of thought is back on track. Thank goodness. "Artie would definitely be interested. I was speaking with him the other day, and he mentioned not having a lot to do this summer. And he's a very talented player. I'm sure he'd play bass if you asked."

He smiles, a genuine smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

She smiles and nods her head, and he is having a really hard time not grabbing her and kissing her, because she looks fucking ridiculously hot. And if he's not mistaken, she was totally checking him out before. _And_ she wiped the sweat from his face, which is not only super hot, but totally not something he thought she'd do. Not to mention the fact that she's wearing this bikini, and he can't help the way his eyes fall to that silver heart between her boobs.

He hooks his finger through it and tugs gently, pulling her closer to him. Her hand falls to his chest and she looks between his hand and his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks breathily.

"Didn't know you'd rock something like this," he says, his hand still between her breasts. His knuckle is grazing her skin, and she really hopes he doesn't notice the goosebumps. "I think you might have made my day, Berry."

"Noah."

The thing is, she could totally pull away if she wanted to.

She isn't.

"Just saying. You look good."

She blinks up at him before taking a step back, looking over her shoulder. "I should go..."

He smirks at her and watches as she runs one hand up and down her upper arm, covering her chest in the process. For whatever reason, he thinks it's kind of awesome that he can get her all flustered.

"See you later, Rach."

She turns and walks away, and when she looks over her shoulder he's still watching her.

She can't remember the last time, if there was one, when he called her by some form of her first name.

And when she gets back to the pool, Brittany, Santana and Quinn are all in the water, making fun of Rachel for running after Noah. But their ridicule is the friendly kind, not the mean kind. She gets into the water and thinks that maybe this summer won't be so bad at all.

* * *

Rachel gets word that Noah, Finn and Artie have been rehearsing in Puck's garage for better than a week, almost every day, when their schedules allow.

It's not that she doesn't love her vocal lessons and her vocal coach. She does. She really does. She wouldn't be the singer she is without the woman's guidance. Of course, she'd still have an incredible voice, but her breath control and range wouldn't be as developed.

The problem is, there are only so many arias and Broadway numbers one can sing before getting just a little board. That was the beauty of glee club; it forced her out of her box, made her sing things she normally wouldn't. And she misses glee club for that, among other things.

So when she shows up at Noah's door one evening, she's got a plan. A good one.

She, for some reason, doesn't expect his mother to answer the door.

She's met Ms. Puckerman once or twice at glee events, but she's sure that Noah has never let on that he and Rachel are....

Well, she's sure he's never talked about her.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, Ms. Puckerman, do you remember me? Rachel Berry?"

"Oh! Of course!" Ms. Puckerman swings the door open wider and gestures for Rachel to step inside. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, thank you, and yourself?" Rachel asks. She realizes that this is the first time she's ever been in this house.

"I'm good. I'm just on my way out the door to work. And you can call me Aviva."

The woman's smile is so kind that Rachel can't help but return it. "Is Noah home?"

"He is. You can head right up. Second door on the left," Aviva says as she gathers her purse and keys. "And would you mind telling him that Hannah has soccer until 7:30, and the Adlemans are bringing her home?"

"Sure," Rachel says with a smile. "It was nice seeing you again."

"You too, sweetheart. Take care!"

Aviva is out the door and Rachel is wondering why it's okay for Noah to be alone in the house with a girl. Does Aviva know that she has nothing to worry about where Rachel is concerned? Does she just think Rachel isn't his type? Does she like Rachel enough that she doesn't mind that Rachel is in her home alone with her son?

She needs to stop this line of thinking. Immediately.

She starts up the stairs, noticing photos on the wall of Noah over the years, alone and then with his sister. All too soon, she's standing outside his bedroom door, wiping her hands on her skirt - when did they get get so clammy? She suddenly thinks she was crazy to come here. What does she hope to accomplish? She knows that he's going to say no to what she's about to propose.

But it's too late to turn back now.

"What?" he mumbles after she's knocked at the door gently.

"It's me. It's Rachel." She rolls her eyes at herself. She should be more confident than this.

"Berry?"

"Do you know another Rachel?" She's almost smiling. She likes that she can surprise him.

"No." Fuck. What is she doing at his house? And is his mom even home? Did she like, McGuyver her way into his house or something? Shit.

"Well? Can I come in?"

His room is a disaster. His bed isn't made, and there are clothes everywhere. And uh, he's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He grabs the closest pair of bottoms - jeans - and pulls them on, wrenching the door open before he even bothers to do up the fly. And no, he's not really surprised at the look of shock on her face.

She can't help the way she looks him up and down. Honestly, it's kind of impossible not to stare. It's like he's been carved from marble or something, only he looks so much softer (his _skin_ is...she thinks she's _blushing_) and when her eyes find his face again, he's wearing that smirk and his brow is raised.

"Please tell me you're alone," she says. He's wedged between the door and the frame, and she can't see inside his room.

"What are you doing here?"

She supposes that's an answer. He walks into his room and lays down on his messy bed.

"Could you...um...you own shirts, right?" she asks. She marches to his closet, sidestepping piles of...whatever. She grabs a tee shirt off a hanger and thrusts it towards him. "My god, Noah, how do you live like this? It's disgusting in here. Is that a pizza box? And a half eaten donut!?"

"Whatever. What are you doing here?" he repeats. He doesn't put on the shirt. He likes how obviously attracted she is to him, how she obviously won't admit it.

Not that he'll admit that she looks really damn hot in her little denim skirt and pink tank top.

"I want in."

Shit, the things a phrase like that'll do to a guy...

"In _what_, exactly?" he asks, leaning up on his elbows. He and Rachel (okay, maybe it's one sided) have had this flirtation pretty much since winter. He'll flirt with her and she'll...

She rolls her eyes?

Not exactly what he wanted to see.

"In your band," she states confidently.

He starts laughing. Hard.

"No."

"Yes!"

"_No_."

"Noah!"

"Rachel, fuck. No!" She scowls and crosses her arms. "Look, this isn't like, some fucking lame ass Broadway review, alright? We're doing serious, kick ass tunes. Like, fuckin'...The Stones, and the Police, and other awesome classic rock stuff."

"Which is exactly what I'm interested in," she says seriously, shrugging one shoulder.

"Berry."

"I want to expand my repertoire, and I honestly can't think of a better way. Not to mention, I've been playing piano since I was six, and I can sight read music better than anyone I know."

Shit. He and Artie were just talking the other day about how how they could use a decent keys player. They just didn't know of one.

"Really? Keys?" She nods emphatically. He sighs. This is really hard to say no to. "We could use a background singer."

"Background!?" she shouts, stalking across the room to stand in front of him. "What do you mean _background_? I'm _not_ a background singer, Noah, and you know it. I'm cut out for the spotlight."

"It's my spotlight now," he reminds her. She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her off. "My band, my song choices. I'm lead. If you want in, you can deal with it."

She seems to mull it over, and when she looks down at him, his upper body on display and the light grey of his boxers visible.

She decides that his way doesn't seem that bad.

(It doesn't occur to her until a couple hours later that her judgment was completely impaired by whatever it is that courses through her when she sees him; lust, maybe.)

"_Fine_. Some of the best vocalists are backup singers first. Look at...look at Trisha Yearwood. She sung on a multitude of records in the mid-90's before starting her solo career, and now she's one of the most popular..."

"Yeah. Whatever. Listen, we rehearse tomorrow at 3:30. Bring your shit."

As soon as she's left, he wonders what he's agreed to.

* * *

Their first practice, she shows up and asks (tells) Finn to unload her keyboard from the trunk of her car, and she commandeers the boys, insisting that they need a clean workspace. She grabs a broom and asks Puck to shove aside some of the boxes that are in the way.

_Fine_. Puck can admit that it's easier to rock out when there isn't a bunch of shit in his way.

He's a little surprised with how easily she keeps up with them, since they've been practicing for a couple weeks and this is her first rehearsal.

And okay, when she suggests they do Mustang Sally, he can admit that their voices blend really well or whatever.

And when she starts rambling on about...whatever...he starts playing Smells Like Teen Spirit, and winks at her when she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

She actually looks kind of cute, he thinks, when she's belting out harmonies to that Aerosmith tune and he catches her eye.

* * *

"Boys, you are _so_ going to thank me," she announces, walking into the garage one day, that huge, creepy smile on her face.

"'Sup?" Puck asks, jutting his chin in her direction. He can't help but look her up and down, because she's wearing this really sexy black strapless summer dress with her flip flops.

"I, my friends, have just gotten us our first show!"

"What?" Finn asks worriedly. "Are we...are we even ready for that?"

"Sure we are! And besides, it's not for another two weeks!" she says excitedly. "It's at the Lynnwood, and they've agreed to let us play even though we're underage. I'm very persuasive."

Puck mumbles something about her being persuasive like a nuclear warhead, and yeah, it doesn't really make any sense, which Finn is quick to point out, but whatever.

"What's it pay?" Puck asks.

"$200 each, as long as we aren't terrible," she says, taking her place behind her keyboard. "So we need to practice!"

That's probably the moment he decides that he really likes having Rachel in the band.

You know, because she's making him $200.

* * *

"Don't you think it's really weird that you're the only girl in this little band?" Quinn asks one day. She and Rachel decided to go for mani-pedis at the nicest spa in town, and they're sitting there next to one another, feet dipped in hot water. "I mean, you're with them all the time."

"Not all the time," Rachel insists, smiling. "And it's fun! You know? Learning these new songs and hanging out with the guys."

"Are you and...are you like, hooking up?"

"With who?" Rachel laughs.

"Um, anyone?" Quinn answers, giggling.

Rachel shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "No. I'm not. It's just about the music."

Yes. The music. Not how good Noah looks with his guitar slung around his shoulder, sweat gathering on his skin as he sings. Or about how their voices blend seamlessly, or about him winking at her when he notices the same thing. And it's most certainly not about the way he pulled her aside to thank her for booking them a show, or how his hand never left her elbow.

No. Because she's not actually interested in Noah. She can't be.

"Stop thinking about him," Quinn says.

"I'm not! Noah and I are just friends!"

Quinn practically beams at Rachel. "Who said anything about Noah?" she asks. Rachel's cheeks flare red, and she covers her face with her hands. Quinn is an evil genius with these mind games. "You so want him!"

"I do not," Rachel insists, shooting a hard glare at the blonde. "I _don't_."

"You just keep telling yourself that," Quinn says in a sing songy voice. Rachel closes her eyes and tips her head back. "You know, it's okay if you do."

"No, it's not."

"Sure it is."

"No!" Rachel almost shouts. "No. He's disgusting. And crass. And he makes fun of me almost constantly. He's despicable, and he seems to have some strange seasonal aversion to wearing shirts!"

"Oh, please," Quinn says, shaking her head. "I know you aren't calling _that_ a bad thing. I mean, it's not like I want him...at all...but the guy looks good without his shirt on." Rachel groans and lets out a frustrated breath. "Rach, he's really changed this year. I mean, with the whole baby thing, and...I think glee changed him, too."

"It doesn't matter, because I'm not interested," Rachel repeats, turning straight ahead and talking to her manicurist. "Can you be gentle with my cuticles? They're very sensitive."

They don't talk about Noah any more after that.

But Rachel doesn't stop thinking about him for the rest of the day.

It doesn't surprise her, really, since that's pretty much been the story of her summer so far.

* * *

They're rehearsing one night and they totally lose track of time as they try to put together an honest to goodness set list, which they learn is harder than they assumed. Of course, Rachel knows more about it than any of them, so she puts something together and they swap out songs here or there, and by the end of it, they've got a solid list, but the sun is going down. Puck tries to figure out if they've really spent like, four hours in his garage, playing and arguing over song choices.

His mom comes in with lemonade for them, and she starts talking to 'the boys' about their show. She's a pretty cool mom, Puck knows, but seriously? He's not a little kid. He doesn't need her bringing him snacks and shit.

"Rachel, sweetie, I didn't notice your car," Aviva says.

"Oh, no. I walked. It was just so beautiful out earlier," Rachel answers, and Puck notices the way Finn smiles at her.

But yeah, they've talked about girls (that's pretty much all they talk about) and Puck knows that Finn isn't into Rachel. And he's pretty sure she's not into Finn either. Which is good.

You know, for band unity or...whatever.

"Noah, you had better walk her home," Aviva says sternly. "You're not letting her walk alone at night."

"I could drive..." Artie starts, but Puck cuts him off.

"Sure thing, mom. I got it." Puck winks at Rachel (she blushes; he's always doing that) and she sips her lemonade.

"You kids sound really wonderful!" Aviva says, changing the subject completely. "I do love that Bon Jovi song."

"Of course you do. You have a pulse," Finn says with a laugh. Aviva looks at him adoringly and rests her hand over his shoulder. "But I've gotta go. Mom's probably freaking out already."

"I should head out, too," Artie adds. "But thank you for the lemonade, Ms. Puckerman."

Puck rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Artie is one of those freaks who's polite like, all the damn time.

"You're welcome," she sings. Finn pushes Artie out of the garage and helps him load his wheelchair into his car. "Now Rachel, you make sure Noah takes you all the way home. I can't have anything happen to our little starlet."

"Mom."

"No excuses, Noah!"

"I'll insist," Rachel says, smiling at Noah. He actually looks embarrassed, which she thinks is pretty cute. She doesn't think she's ever seen him look this way before. Aviva says goodbye and heads back into the house. Rachel turns back to Noah, who's running his hand over the back of his head. "Your mother just called me a starlet."

Yeah. He caught that part.

"She's probably been drinking again," he says. He's joking, of course, but he doesn't think she picks up on it. "C'mon. It's getting late."

"It's not even 10:00."

"Don't you go to bed at like, 8:30 normally?"

"You're an idiot," she says, walking out of the garage and down the driveway. He'd be pissed if he didn't know she was just teasing.

And it's really not hard to follow her when she's wearing those little shorts and flowy purple tee shirt.

He's learned a lot about her in the last week or so. She's a fucking slave driver, for one. They've been practicing nearly every day, but he doesn't really mind, because he wants them to sound really good, too.

And he's learned that without a doubt, no matter what, she'll pull her hair into a ponytail three songs into their practice. It doesn't matter what the temperature or what she's wearing or how she's been wearing her hair. Three songs in, she slips the elastic off her wrist and pulls her hair up.

"What are you gonna wear?" he asks.

"Pardon me?"

"To our show. What are you wearing? I mean, I can't put on a rock show with a backup singer who's dressed like an 80 year old."

And yes, he takes every possible opportunity to remind her that she's his backup singer. It's just so fun watching her scowl.

"Well, I do have something that I've been dying to wear."

"Tell me it's not, like, a fucking plaid skirt or something," Puck says, groaning at the thought of her on stage at this bar in a fucking school girl outfit.

"No."

"Rachel, seriously. We have to look at least a little badass. We've already gotta deal with the fact that we've got a kid in a wheelchair in our band. I can't have you dressing like...you."

She stops walking and stands in front of him with this devious little smile on her face. It's not so bad, he decides, to just be walking towards her neighbourhood, the sticky air around them. It's quiet, save for their own conversation and their footsteps. But yeah, he's a little worried about what she's about to say.

"Noah, if I'm not mistaken, you haven't had much of a problem with the way I've been dressing lately," she says, eyes locked with his.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He knows exactly what it means.

"I don't even think you've been attempting to be discreet," she says quietly. He takes a step towards her. "I've seen the way you've been looking at me."

"'S'because you're fucking sexy, Rach," he says candidly. What? He figures that if she's being bold, he's not going to deny it.

"Noah."

"You are, and you know it," he insists. "And you actually dress like a normal person in the summer." He hooks his index finger through the belt loop on her shorts, tugging her closer to him. "I still think about you in that bikini," he admits. She's just blinking up at him. "That's some of the best material in my spank bank."

Her brow furrows and she looks at him. "Your spank..." Her eyes go wide when she actually realizes what that is. "That's disgusting!"

He smirks and takes another step towards her. His knee brushes her thigh. "Then why are you smiling?" Her jaw drops and she moves backwards a little. "You like it, Rachel. You like that I think of you like that. Admit it."

He _does not_ know what he's trying to do right now.

"No," she says confidently. She wonders if he knows that she's lying. Judging by the smirk on his face and the raised brow, he knows. "I think it's disgusting that you're objectifying me for...for...self-gratification."

He actually starts laughing. "I'm not objectifying you."

She lets out a huff, spins around, and starts marching down the sidewalk away from him.

She really doesn't know what to think. Yes, it's disgusting that he apparently has a whole 'bank' of images that he...does that...to. But there's something about the idea that he thinks of her in a sexual way, as something more than just a girl he knows, that stirs a feeling in her stomach. And then there's the image of him...doing that...and that just makes her face feel hot, and she needs to _stop_ picturing that.

"Rachel, slow down."

"No!"

"C'mon, I'm sorry," he says, reaching for her arm. "I was just trying to piss you off." She should not be disappointed, thinking he just made all that up. "I mean, all that stuff is true, but I shouldn't have told you. Fuck. Seriously, I shouldn't have."

"Are you embarrassed to admit that you...that you think of me that way?" she asks. She's stopped walking again, but her back is still to him.

"No," he admits quietly. He's standing right behind her, but he's somehow keeping himself from touching her. "Not at all." And yeah, he's totally checking her out as he says it. "I just don't really need _you_ to know that."

He laughs a little as he says it, and she turns around then, noticing how close he is.

"Can you just walk me home?" she asks, eyes all soft as she looks up at him. "In silence."

He nods and does as she asks.

He thinks he really, really just screwed up.

* * *

Quinn is sitting by the pool at Brittany's house while he works. It's become kind of their tradition, the two of them hanging out while he skims the top and checks the chemicals.

"So what'd you say to Rachel?" she asks after a few minutes.

"Nothing."

"Liar. I called her yesterday and she said she was going to rehearsal, but she didn't seem excited about it at all."

Puck glares at her. "So you automatically think that has something to do with me?" he asks angrily. "That's bullshit."

"Please!" she laughs. "Artie wouldn't hurt a fly, and Finn is..._Finn_."

"He strung her along before," Puck points out. So _there_.

"Yeah, but he's not doing it now. And she told me he was picking her up," Quinn explains, looking over at him. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. Drop it."

She does.

He almost wonders if he should ask advice on how to get back into Rachel's good graces, but that's just not how he rolls.

And he tells himself he doesn't really care anyway.

* * *

Quinn calls Rachel to talk about her weird encounter with Puck, and Rachel acts completely disinterested, dodging questions when Quinn asks them. _No, nothing happened. No, I'm not mad at him. No, I don't care if he thinks I'm mad at him. Please stop talking about me when you're with him._

She's really not mad at him. It's just that she doesn't know how to act around him. Needless to say, she's never had anyone admit what he admitted to her before. Even Jesse, who she dated for nearly four months, didn't divulge such personal details. It shouldn't surprise her, really, that Noah crossed the line. Maybe she should have expected it.

She finds herself at his house, since she promised to drop off some sheet music, and she won't let the band suffer because she feels strange around him now.

When his mother answers the door, Rachel thinks that she lets out a sigh of relief.

"Rachel! Hi!"

"Hello, Aviva. I just wanted to drop this off for Noah," Rachel says, handing over a bright pink folder. (And yes, she chose bright pink just because she knows he'll hate it.)

"He's upstairs if you want..."

"No, no," Rachel says quickly. "No, it's okay. I should go."

"Rachel, are you sure?" Aviva asks worriedly.

"Yes, it's really fine. Just remind him that our rehearsal for tomorrow needs to be an hour earlier," Rachel says smiling as she jingles her keys in her hand. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," Aviva says, slightly bewildered. The girl is a whirlwind, but usually not so much of one.

She figures she has a pretty good guess as to what's wrong with Rachel.

When his mom comes into his room and smacks him over the side of the head, Puck looks at her like she's out of her goddamn mind. Which she might be. She throws a pink folder at him and he doesn't know what's going on.

"Whatever you did, you better undo it," she warns sternly.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Rachel wouldn't even come into the house." She puts her hand on her hip and Puck tries not to groan. Granted, he hasn't really made much of an effort to smooth things over with Rachel, but he doesn't think she should be this weird anyway. "You had better fix it."

"I will," he says, for some reason.

His mom smiles and turns to leave the room. "Good! She might be my only chance at Jewish grandchildren, and I don't want you mucking it all up!"

She tugs the door closed again and Puck pulls his pillow over his head.

Women are fucking insane.

* * *

He's not a pussy, okay? He's not.

He just doesn't want to actually have to like, talk to Rachel to work this shit out. And yeah, he knows he has to work it out. All the crazy chicks in his life are telling him he has to, so he figures maybe they're right. Whatever.

He IMs her.

**Puckerone: **_We cool?_

**Rachel: **_Cool? What do you mean?_

He rolls his eyes. Of course she's going to make him spell it out.

**Puckerone: **_After the other night. Don't want you to be mad._

**Rachel: **_I'm not mad._

**Puckerone:** _You sure?_

**Rachel: **_Yes, I'm sure. I was just uncomfortable. But your admission shouldn't change anything between us. *Nothing* should change. We need to remain friends, for the band's sake._

**Puckerone: **_Right_.

**Puckerone:** _Just don't want things to be weird._

**Rachel:** _They won't be. Promise._

**Rachel: **_I have to go. See you at practice tomorrow?_

**Puckerone: **_Yup. Later._

There. Air cleared.

But wait. _Nothing_ should change?

Yeah, he spends way too much time thinking about what she meant by that.

* * *

Rachel is sitting on the sofa in the garage with a notepad in her hand and Finn sitting next to her when Puck comes home from work one day.

Well, don't they look fucking cozy.

He's had a shitty day. Long, tiring, and super hot. And now Rachel's sitting there in her tank top and shorts, and he can see that she's wearing a bikini top underneath, and her hair is in a messy ponytail, and for whatever reason, he just wants to be alone with her. He wants Finn to leave so that Puck can take her somewhere, anywhere with water, really, and strip her down and swim with her and cool down.

Shit. His imagination is going crazy.

She's giggling when she notices that he's there.

"Hi!" she says happily. Finn does something that makes her squirm. "Don't!"

"What?" Finn asks her innocently, making her roll her eyes at him.

Puck is _not_ in the mood for this shit.

"What are you doing here? Rehearsal isn't for another half hour," he notes, pulling his shirt off. Rachel watches him intently. He doesn't miss the way her eyes linger on his chest.

"We're coming up with names," Finn explains.

"Without me? Where's Artie?" Puck asks. He lays down on the cool concrete floor, and winces as his back cracks and straightens out. Hey, you can't say cleaning pools is easy work.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks worriedly. She slips off the sofa and sits next to him, her hip almost brushing his.

"My back is killing me, and I'm hot as fuck."

"Want a drink or something, dude?" Finn asks. Puck manages a thumbs up and Finn heads inside.

"Sit up," Rachel insists. He looks up at her like she's nuts. "Do it."

"I'm comfortable," Puck says. And as an afterthought; "Don't boss me around."

"Relax. Don't you trust me by now?" He lets out a sigh and winces as he sits up, and Rachel moves so she's sitting behind him. "You know, you really should take it easy. I know you're all about making money, but you should..."

He thinks his eyes roll back in his head when her hands skim over his skin, applying pressure to his aching muscles.

"Holy shit, Rachel, what are you doing back there?" he asks. She's like, doing some crazy massage thing and he honestly didn't even know her tiny little hands could do that shit.

"Daddy used to be a licensed massage therapist. I've picked up a few things. You're very tense, Noah." She digs her thumbs between his shoulder blades and he arches his back. Her face is suddenly hot. His skin is so smooth, just like she's imagined it'd be. "You have a knot."

"You're good at this," he says, his voice low as she works that spot. He lets out a throaty noise before he can catch himself.

She's just about to do something stupid. No seriously. It's really, really stupid. She's honestly thinking about kissing him. Just...anywhere. Just to feel him, some part of him beneath her lips.

Thankfully, Finn walks back into the garage with three cans of Sprite before she manages to embarrass herself. She pulls her hands from Noah's skin and takes the can Finn extends to her.

"So what names do you have?" Puck asks, grabbing the notepad off the couch as Finn sits down. He doesn't need to be thinking of Rachel's hands. Like, at all. Ever. Rachel gets up and sits on the sofa again, too. "Blue Cocoon? What the fuck kind of a name is that?"

"Hey!" Finn says, all offended. "It's my favourite colour and an awesome word. I think it sounds cool."

"I think you're an idiot."

"Let's try not to be mean," Rachel intervenes. "And we should really wait until Artie gets here before deciding upon anything."

"Can we decide against Blue Cocoon? And TumbleDown? Jesus Christ, these are the worst names in fucking ever," Puck says.

They spend the next 20 minutes arguing over the names Finn and Rachel have been brainstorming. Puck hates them all. Seriously, they might as well call themselves Kitten Fur or something equally as fucking stupid, the shit those two picked out is so lame. Honestly. What kind of name is Shutter Lens? Admittedly, the ones Rachel picked, written out in her loopy cursive, are marginally better than Finn's, but still, they aren't _good_. There's no connection between the names and the band.

When Artie arrives, Puck has literally just set the notebook on fire. Rachel is not impressed. Finn is totally trying not to laugh. Puck drops the book into a metal bucket and Rachel scowls, pouting at him as she crosses her arms. (And yeah, he checks out her rack. A fucking plus.)

"I take it your attempts at coming up with a suitable name are..."

"Currently smoldering in a trash can? Yes," Rachel says. Puck winks at her. She lets out a huff.

Artie has some good suggestions. No one hates them, which is a bonus, but no one is really in love with anything either. They sit around, sipping sodas, with Puck lazily strumming his guitar as they talk.

"What about The Association?" Artie suggests.

"I like it," Finn says.

"No. Nick Jonas and The Administration. It's too close," Rachel insists.

They collectively sigh and go back to thinking. It's another five minutes before Puck comes up with something that doesn't suck.

"Order of Assembly."

"What does that even mean?" Finn asks. "Veto."

"Dude, just because you now know what that word means, doesn't mean you can use it for every fucking suggestion someone has," Puck says seriously. Fuck, this blows. This is taking way too fucking long.

"I think we just need to relax," Artie says. He wheels over and grabs his bass, flicking his amp on and starting to mess around with a bassline. "I think we have good intentions, but we just can't come up with anything by pure force of will."

"Wait," Puck says, leaning forward. "Say that again."

Rachel and Finn share confused glances. "What?" Rachel asks. "Pure force of will?"

"Well, that's fucking awesome, too, but no. The Good Intentions," he says seriously, smiling as he stands from his place. "That's our name. The Good Intentions."

Rachel smiles all wide, and he knows he has her. And honestly, if he has her in agreement, the other guys don't really matter, because she'll talk them into it.

"The Good Intentions," Finn repeats. He grins and nods, then Artie does the same, and they all high five, though Rachel hugs them all instead. "We have a name!"

"We have a _kick ass_ name," Puck says.

Rachel's watching him as she takes her place behind her keyboard so they can actually start their real rehearsal. He gives her a genuine smile and notices the way she blushes.

He can still feel her hands on his back, and he really, really wishes he couldn't. It's distracting as hell.


	2. Chapter 2

The night of their first show, he's nervous. Like, he might throw up at any second, he's so nervous. He's driving to Rachel's place to pick her up, and most of their gear is in the back of his truck. Finn and Artie are driving together, and they're all meeting at the bar in a half hour.

Puck does not want Rachel to know he's nervous. He doesn't know if she'd make fun of him for it, but she just might. He thinks, sometimes, that she likes to see him come a little undone. Kind of like he likes to see her come a little undone.

Oh, shit. That reminds him of a problem. What the hell is Berry's idea of a rock and roll outfit? I mean, it's not like he's done anything crazy. He's just wearing jeans and a black tee shirt, a pair of Chucks on his feet. That's rock and roll enough for him. But it's different for girls, isn't it? He needs her to look normal, hot even. Sexy, if she can pull it off.

(He knows she can. He's seen it several times.)

Her dad lets him into the house and tells him to head upstairs, and her bedroom door is open when he gets to it. He walks into the room and doesn't see any sight of her.

"Rach?"

"Oh!" he hears, coming from the bathroom. That door is open too, so he walks over to peek inside. "Hi!"

"Holy fucking shit."

Yeah, that is his reaction to her leather skirt. Leather. Black leather.

She is wearing _black fucking leather_. And that shit is _short_, too. Like, one of her shortest.

Her hair is down, curled at the ends, and she's got a black headband holding it back from her face a little bit. Her eyes are super dark and smokey, like he's never seen her wear her makeup before. It's seriously hot. And she's got a white tank top layered over a black one, with some long silver necklaces on.

"Is it okay?" she asks, biting her lip, which is painted redder than usual.

He lets out a soft laugh. "Is it...Is it _okay_?" he asks. He looks her up and down again. "Christ, Rach. It's more than okay." Her smile widens and she turns back to her mirror, fussing with her hair needlessly one last time. He most definitely stares at her ass in that leather skirt. "You look hot as hell."

She giggles and steps into her bedroom. "Good. That's what I was going for."

He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he reaches out and rests his hand on her hip before she can walk past him. "I can't even...I'm glad you're gonna be with us all night."

"What? Why?" she asks obliviously.

He smirks and watches as she bends down to grab her black strappy heels. (A couple more inches and he totally would have seen panty.) "Because someone has to make sure no other dudes get all up on this."

Her eyes meet his, and for a second, she seriously wonders what in the world he's talking about. He's making it sound like he wants her for himself or something. If she's being honest, they've been dancing around that for weeks.

She decides she'll do a little prodding, see if she can't get a more solid indication of what he's thinking or feeling.

"You don't think it's too much?" she asks coyly, running her fingers through the ends of her hair.

He clears his throat after a second of staring. "No," he answers. "No, it's...it's perfect."

She smiles all wide and heads out into the hall.

He follows her for a few reasons.

* * *

Rachel is almost surprised at how well their performance goes. Finn only drops his drumsticks once, and Noah hits the note in Livin' On A Prayer that he hasn't been hitting consistently. Artie sounds amazing, and Rachel, of course, is flawless.

She definitely did not expect to see Quinn, Brittany, Santana, Mike and Matt in the audience. During the break in the band's set, she learns that they all have fake IDs, and of course they were going to come support their friends. Rachel's still just getting used to the idea of having friends.

When Matt starts flirting with her (and he _is_ flirting, she's not imagining it), that's when things get really weird.

He brings her a bottle of water and twists off the cap before handing it to her, and she thanks him politely. When there isn't a seat at the table everyone's at, he stands and insists she take his spot. When his hand brushes her back as he rests it on the back of the chair, she looks up at him and he gives her this really sweet smile.

And that's when Noah grabs her by the wrist and tells her he needs to talk to her about one of the songs in their second set.

He pulls her into the little backstage area behind a heavy door, and she pulls her wrist from his grasp, looking at him like he's insane.

"What on earth is your problem?" she asks angrily, rubbing her skin.

Puck looks down and sees that her wrist is red from where he was holding it and he feels like a complete dick. God, he doesn't want to hurt her. He just couldn't sit there and watch Matt making a move on her. He reaches out and takes her hand, letting his fingertips run over the marks on her skin softly.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm fine," she insists quietly. "Just...confused. I'm fairly certain you don't honestly need to talk to me about Hurts So Good." She looks down and notices that his hand is still holding hers, his other still tracing shapes on her wrist. "Noah, why are you still holding onto me."

"Because."

"Because why?"

He raises his eyes to look at her then, and god, she looks so gorgeous that it's hard to remember what he wanted.

Right. Just to get her away from Matt. That was really all there was to it.

"Because Matt was totally coming onto you, and I need you focused for our next set," he answers evenly. Sweet. That was a good answer. He knows it.

But then her face kind of falls and she takes another step away from him.

"Right. Of course," she says, pulling her hand away from his. Shit. How did he just fuck up? "Are you prepared? We go on in three minutes."

"Ready when you are, babe."

She rolls her eyes at his smirk, but there are fireworks going off in her stomach.

She wants him to want her.

(Which gives her an idea for a song, and she _is_ going to sing _lead_ if they do it.)

Their second set gets people laughing, dancing and kissing, in some cases. Rachel laughs as an old guy with a mullet approaches Brittany and asks for a dance. She's too nice or clueless to say no, so she ends up being two stepped around the dance floor. Puck shoots a look Rachel's way as he sings, and she just shrugs and shakes her head. None of them ever really know what's going on in Brittany's head.

It's nearing 1:00 am when they finish playing, and by that time all their friends have left. The only people left in the bar are too drunk to register what's going on, or much of anything else, really, so the band disassembles their equipment and loads up pretty quickly without too much hassle.

Rachel talks to the manager and gets their money, and also books them another show in a couple weeks' time.

So Puck can admit that she's pretty awesome.

And he can admit that her ass looks _really_ fucking hot when she's leaning over the bar, grabbing a few bottles of water for the guys. God, that skirt is fucking _killer_.

"C'mon," Puck says after they've packed up all their shit and are standing around outside. "I'll take you home."

"Finn offered," she says, brushing the hair back from her face.

"So?" he says seriously, shrugging his shoulder. "You came with me. It'd be shitty of you to leave with someone else."

He sees the smile she tries to hide. He can tell she doesn't buy that for a second.

"Fine." She watches as he wrenches open the door of his truck, and he actually turns his head as she climbs in, rather than trying to sneak a peek up her skirt. She's pretty sure he could have, too. She's not sure she'll wear the leather again, despite his obvious approval.

The first thing he does when he turns the key is turn the radio off, and Rachel is thankful for it. They've just spent over three hours in a crowded, loud bar, playing rock music. The last thing she needs right now is any unnecessary noise.

"You were really great tonight," she says once they're halfway toward her house. "You sounded really good."

"Don't I always?" he asks teasingly, casting her a sideward glance. She rolls her eyes, then yawns. He laughs a little bit. He gets the feeling she's out past her bedtime. "Thanks. And you were good too."

"Thank you," she says. Another yawn comes, and they both laugh. "I'm sorry. I just can't wait to get out of this skirt and into my bed."

He doesn't know what the fuck to say do that. All his ideas are really fucking dirty.

So he says nothing. He notices the way she fidgets. It's obvious she's realized what she's said, and he actually feels good or whatever, knowing he didn't push the issue just to make her squirm.

He could, but he won't.

They're quiet the rest of the way to her house, and she just smiles at him before getting out of his truck and heading for the front door.

He shouldn't feel like the night isn't over. He shouldn't be pissed that she didn't say anything.

He really shouldn't be thinking about her shimmying out of that skirt, pulling her shirt over her head, and laying down in bed.

(But he does.)

* * *

They give themselves a couple days off practice, which at first Puck is thankful for. He works a little overtime and puts a chunk of money in the bank (the $200 from their gig went straight to Q/the hospital, which he wasn't even pissed about; the sooner he gets that shit paid off, the better.) He hangs out with his mom, which despite what he might have you believe, is actually kind of cool. What? His mom is awesome, you know, when she's not riding his ass about _whatever_. They have Chinese and watch Ocean's 11, and it's not so bad, just sitting there with her, listening to her talk about how _'handsome that George Clooney is. For a gentile.'_

Finn takes an extra shift, so the day they're supposed to resume rehearsals their practice is cancelled. Fucking Hudson. Puck was actually really looking forward to playing again. He's gotten really used to hanging out in his garage with these three fucking misfits. Seriously. They're insane. Their band is the most ridiculous mix of people ever. Maybe that's why it works.

But you know what the really fucked up thing is?

He fucking misses _Rachel_.

Sure, she's annoying (not as much as she used to be) and loud (but that's not so bad when you actually listen to what she has to say) and crazy (and that happens to work out in their favour most of the time). But she's also fucking hilarious when she doesn't take herself so seriously, and she's probably the nicest person he knows. Seriously, what other girl would just forgive and forget all the shit he's put her through? They're friends, despite all that, and he thinks that's pretty awesome of her.

And yeah, he's gotten off to the memory of her in that skirt a couple times. Whatever. He can't be blamed for that.

He doesn't know what the fuck's wrong with him, though, because he kinda just wants to like, hear her voice.

Pretty weird, since he spent pretty much the first two years of his high school life trying to ignore it.

He grabs his keys and tells his mom he's going out, even though it's fucking pouring rain, and that he's not sure when he'll be home. She shouts something about 1:00 am at him as he walks to the door, but he doesn't really put much stock into that, because she never really punishes him anyway for breaking 'curfew.' That whole curfew thing was pretty much only instated after she found out about the baby, which is pretty fucked up, if you think about it. What, does she think babies can only be made between the hours of 1:00 and 7:00 am? Crazy woman.

And he's parked in front of Rachel's house 10 minutes later.

_Come outside_, he texts her.

_What? It's late._

He watches the light go on in her bedroom, then texts her back. _Come out. I'm bored._

_My dads won't let me. _

_Ask._

It's another minute and a half (he watches the time change on the clock on his dash) before she texts him back.

_Fine_.

She's outside five minutes later, wearing jeans and a loose black v-neck tee shirt. She runs to his truck holding a sweater over her head in a lame attempt at keeping herself dry. She hoists herself into the passenger seat and glares at him, gathering her hair in her hands and pulling it off her neck before letting it fall again.

"What are you doing? Do you have any idea how many questions I just faced? My fathers don't quite understand why I'm leaving the house at 10 o'clock at night. Not to mention, this weather is absolutely disgusting, and...Why aren't you driving? Did you just force me out here to idle in your truck on my own street?"

He chokes out a laugh and puts his truck in gear, turns up the wipers as they pull away from the curb. She messes with his radio (fucking always) and clicks her seat belt into place, draping her sweater over the back of the seat between them.

"How are you?" he finds himself asking.

"I've been well, thank you. Dance class was excruciating today. I don't know how familiar you are with the pas de deux, but I've been working on it since May with this boy in my ballet class, and my muscles are..."

"Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"I was kinda just being polite," he says. She actually smiles, rather than getting all upset and self-conscious like she would have before. "But it's kinda weird, huh?"

"What's that?" she asks, crossing her legs as she gets comfortable. He loves it when she does that. It's kinda sexy. She looks good in his truck.

"Not, you know, having practice every day or whatever."

"Oh! That! Yes, it has been weird, actually," she says, smiling over at him. He grins back, turns up the radio when a not-sucky (probably the only one on this station she listens to) song comes on.

She realizes he hasn't answered her question. She still doesn't know why he picked her up or insisted that she come out with him. Surely, if he wanted to go out he would have called someone else. Oh, goodness. What if he wants to go out? What if there's a party or something that she inevitably doesn't know about? She's certainly not dressed for that. And what would make him think that she'd want to go in the first place?

"Noah, where are we going?" she asks in a panic.

He looks at her like she's nuts.

"Nowhere. I dunno. Wherever," he says.

Well, _that_ puts her at ease.

"Nowhere? Wherever? Noah, what kind of answer is that? I'm not exactly a spontaneous person. I don't know if..."

"Oh, my god," he says, holding out his hand between them. "Fine. Stop talking. I know where I'm going, okay?"

No, he really doesn't.

But he decides on it pretty quickly.

20 minutes later, after they've talked about his work and her hanging out with Quinn (which he still thinks is really fucking weird, actually) they're parked by the lake, and it's completely dark, except for the light from his truck, and they can see the way the rain makes a mist over the water.

"What are we doing here?" she asks.

He grins at her, turns off the truck and pulls his phone and wallet from his pockets. "Swimming."

"What!?" she cries. "It's raining!"

"Exactly."

"Noah."

"Have you ever been swimming in the rain? It's fucking epic," he tells her.

"I'm fairly certain epic is one of the most overused words by our generation, and no, I'm not going swimming at night, in the dark, in the rain, with you."

She literally crosses her arms over her chest and looks away from him out of protest alone.

And it's fucking cold, the way she added_ 'with you,' _like it'd be the worst thing in the world to be in the water with him.

"C'mon. Please?" he asks, hoping his sweet tone of voice will convince her.

"I don't have a suit," she reminds him. He looks at what she's wearing and finds himself smiling. (The way she's sitting, her shirt is gaping at the front and he can see the purple of the bra she's wearing. Goddamn.)

"Neither do I."

"And you don't believe that's a problem?" she asks hotly, turning towards him again. He smirks at her and pulls his shirt over his head. "This is ridiculous. And unsafe. And aren't there eels in this lake?"

"Yup. Which is why I need you," he says. Oh, hell yeah. He's turning on the charm now. "Who's gonna protect me?"

"You're being ridiculous," she says, though there's a smile on her face. She sighs and looks away when he undoes his belt, then unbuttons his jeans and kicks off his shoes. "You're certifiable."

"Come on, Rach. It's pouring rain. There's a lake right there. It's not like you're gonna get any _more_ wet, just because it's raining," he says. Once he realizes what he's said, he turns to her, lifting up off his seat so he can pull his jeans down. She looks quickly away and he can see her turning red. "Unless..."

"What?" she asks when he doesn't finish.

"Well, maybe it will make you more wet, swimming with me. Maybe that's what you're afraid of."

Holy shit, he can't believe he just said that.

She turns back to him, eyes fixed on his face, and raises her brow. "Trust me. That's _not_ the problem."

She's lying.

He doesn't know it.

(She's acutely aware that he's wearing nothing but his boxers, sitting next to her and saying these things.)

"You go first," she says after they've just stared at one another for a moment. "I'll come."

He wonders if she chose those words just to see if he's going to push his luck. He decides against it.

He reaches for the door handle, but turns back to her before opening it. "You're not gonna like, drive off, are you?" She laughs and shakes her head, and he believes her. "Good."

He hops out of the truck, revels in the way the rain cools his skin. It's still hot as hell, even though it's pouring. He makes his way to the edge of the water, and when he looks back to his truck he sees Rachel wearing just her bra on top, and shimmying out of her jeans.

This was either a fucking awesome idea, or an epically bad one. (And fuck her. Epic is an awesome word, even if some people say it too much.)

He wades in until the water's at his thighs, then dives under, resurfacing when the water is up to his chest. He looks back at the truck only to see Rachel with the door open. She's totally hesitating. She gets out, but stands there behind the door and watches him.

"Close your eyes!" she shouts, barely audible over the rain on the water.

"Fuck that! I've seen you in a bathing suit!"

"This is my...This is my..."

"Your underwear. I know! Just come here!" he yells back. "Sometime today, Berry!"

He watches her contemplate it, but she's already soaked by this point. Her hair is sticking to her skin, and her makeup is probably destroyed. He doesn't really care. Her hair looks fucking hot, actually, and she's the kind of girl who doesn't need makeup anyway.

She slams the door and, out of courtesy, he at least pretends to cover his eyes with his hand. Does he peek? You bet your ass he does. Her body is fucking _ridiculous_.

(And no, he doesn't know what a pas de deux or whatever is, but he's pretty sure he'd like watching her do it.)

He pulls his hand down and moves out further, so he's treading water as she dives below the surface. She comes up about 10 feet away from him and swims over. She shakes her head a little bit, trying to get the hair off her face, but it's no use. He's pretty glad. She looks amazing.

She has to admit, this isn't the worst idea he's ever had. It's kind of...almost...sexy, swimming with him at night in the lake, no one else around, rain coming down. And she knows he finds her attractive (she can't forget the night he admitted that to her; she's tried, she just_ can't_.) She really, really wishes her stupid teenaged hormones would just let her forget about him.

They're friends, she thinks, and it's _crazy_ for her to want to kiss him.

"What now?" she asks once she's only a foot or two from him. "What are we going to do?"

"I dunno," he says once more. He gets this smirk on his face that she doesn't trust. Then he splashes her with water and she squeals. "What are _you_ gonna do?"

"Noah!" she shrieks.

She splashes him back, her head dipping under the water when she uses all her force to spray him. She tries to swim away when he threatens to come after her, and when he grabs onto her ankle, she screams and tries to kick her way out of his hold, but it doesn't work. She spins onto her back, kicking more forcefully, sending water into his face and forcing him to close his eyes.

He can't believe how fun this is, just messing around with her. But he really wishes she'd stop fucking kicking water at him so he could get a look at her, floating on her back in nothing but her wet underthings.

He tugs on her ankle with one hand, grabs ahold of her thigh with the other, and pulls her back down so they're face to face. They've somehow made it to more shallow water, so it's only up to his chest and her shoulders. When he brushes the hair from her face, he knows they're having one of those cheesy fucking movie moments where he's supposed to kiss her and she's supposed to wrap herself all around him.

Basically? All he can think about is having sex with her.

She's looking up at him, breathing returning to normal, and she says something that pretty much puts everything back into perspective.

"Don't kiss me."

He's stunned for a moment, then laughs bitterly, shakes his head, and moves away from her, back towards the shore.

She's left there in the water, watching him go, wondering why she's so intent on ruining all the moments they have.

Really, she should have just kissed him. It would have been perfect, the stuff of movies. People write screenplays about kisses like that.

She doesn't know what she's so afraid of.

She's completely over Jesse, and she hasn't wanted anyone in ages. It's more than safe to say that she and Finn are nothing but friends.

The only person she's had romantic feelings for since school ended is Noah.

So why is she pushing him away?

(She's worried that he'll just inevitably end up doing the same to her, pushing back.)

She swims closer to shore then climbs out of the water, and he's already halfway to his truck. She runs after him, and she doesn't know if he realizes it, because he doesn't move any faster.

"Noah!" she calls when she's only a few feet away. She wonders if it only feels like the rain just got louder. She's having a hard time concentrating on anything but the two of them, soaking wet, and how badly she wants to kiss him.

"What, Rachel?"

He doesn't even check her out. She finds she misses it.

"I'm...I'm such an idiot," she says, shaking her head. He rolls his eyes and looks away from her. "I just thought...I didn't want...I ruined everything."

"You did not. Don't be such a fuckin' drama queen."

She likes the fact that he's smiling. That has to be a good thing.

So she takes another stride towards him, rests her hands on his bare shoulders. They're still hot to the touch. She's freezing.

"I want you to," she admits, eyes locked with his.

This girl is full of fucking surprises.

"Didn't seem like it."

"I know," she says quietly. "I was...I thought..."

She gets frustrated with herself for not being able to just say what she wants to say.

_I want you so badly that it scares me._

She figures he'll better understand a physical gesture anyway.

She hops up on her toes, presses herself against him, throws her arms around his neck and kisses him before he even registers what's going on. After a few moments, he sinks into it, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her against him.

Well, of all the things he expected from Rachel, this doesn't even register. He didn't think she was the kind to make this kind of move. He likes that she is though. And maybe he should have expected it. She goes after the things she wants.

Maybe he's just having a hard time believing that she wants him.

And for the record? It's not the easiest fucking thing in the world to not get hard when there's a half-naked, soaking wet girl slipping her tongue into your mouth, tight little body pressed all against you.

"Rachel," he says, pulling away slightly. "You gotta...You gotta give me a second here."

She looks between his lips and his eyes. "But why?" she asks innocently.

He's starting to think that there is very little innocent about her. Especially the way she shifts her hips, making him growl.

"Stop that, or I'll take you right now," he threatens. She actually gasps. _Fuck! _That's so hot_._"I don't...what's this all about?"

"I don't know," she says, leaning forward to kiss him again. "I wanted to. I have wanted to. I...these past few weeks..."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

She shivers violently against him, and he kisses the tip of her nose. (Why not, right?) He reaches for the handle of the drivers side door and wrenches it open, shoving her inside. He grabs the blanket out from under the seat and hands it to her, watches as she drapes it around her shoulders.

They just sit there for a while, her shivering and him trying not to let on that he's actually getting cold. He grabs one edge of the blanket, tugs hard and pulls her across the seat so she's next to him. He drapes his arm around her shoulder, and he knows she's smiling (he can see her reflection in the windshield). He wonders if she's always been this beautiful.

When she stops shaking, he turns his head a little, lips brushing her temple, and speaks softly.

"You wanna make out?"

She starts laughing so hard he thinks she's going to start crying. But then she's wrapping the blanket around the both of them, and her wet bra is pressed up against his chest, her legs around his waist as he presses her back onto the seat.

"Sure," she says against his lips.

* * *

Rachel sleeps in until noon. It's unheard of.

But then again, she's never been out until 2:00 in the morning, kissing a boy in his truck by the lake, either.

God, she feels like she's living in a Taylor Swift song.

Maybe there should have been a little more talking, rather than just the kissing. For all she knows, it was just a one time thing. But given the way he's been looking at her and acting around her since school ended, she's pretty sure it's going to happen again.

(Her stomach shouldn't tighten just thinking about it.)

But then, as she's in the shower, she wonders if that's all it'll be. Would just kissing him be enough for her? She doesn't think so. She's never had that kind of relationship, and though it surprises her, too, she finds herself actually interested in him. And not just because he's gorgeous.

As she's getting dressed and realizing how starving she is, she hears her phone buzzing, so she grabs it before she makes her way to the stairs.

She's got three missed texts. One from Quinn, asking her if she wants to hang out at Brittany's with the girls. There's one from Finn, confirming their practice time for the evening.

And one from Noah, that makes her choke on the orange juice she's just poured herself.

_Work sucks. I keep thinking about you naked in my truck._

She hasn't responded to the other two yet. She's going to respond to this one immediately.

_I wasn't naked!_

He laughs when he receives the text. He's eating lunch at his place, taking a break like he does nearly every day. He knew that message would get her going. But he sent it nearly two hours ago, and he's been just a little worried that she's too pissed at him to respond.

He puts down his sandwich and keys in a response, ignoring his mom's nagging about phones at the table.

"It's Rachel," he says.

Those are the fucking magic words, and he's learned that.

"Oh! How is she?"

He rolls his eyes and laughs. "I swear to god, you're like, two seconds away from adopting her."

She smiles and puts her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss his temple like she knows damn well he hates. "Of course not, Noah," she says, and he can hear her smiling. He's sensing she's got more to say. "If I did that, it'd be _very_ strange when you two get married."

"Oh, for fuck sakes, mom!" he groans.

She smacks him upside the head. (He's not surprised.)

"Watch your mouth."

"Stop planning my future!"

"Someone has to!" she says, laughing as she leaves the kitchen.

That woman is going to be the death of him.

But anyway, he's got a text to send.

_Might as well have been. You felt so good._

He smirks to himself. He's not lying. He's been thinking about it all morning.

And yeah, he was up way after he got home, because there was just no way he was going to sleep without, you know, doing that thing he told her he does while thinking of her. As if she could blame him.

Not that he's going to complain about only getting to second base. Jesus, she was wet, almost naked, and laying beneath him in his truck. There was nothing bad about that. Not at all.

He honestly doesn't expect her to reply to that text. He figures it's just too much for her, and that's okay. He actually kind of likes that about her, that he's most likely going to be the one making all the moves. Well, she kissed him last night, so maybe it'll just always be him pushing the envelope, waiting for her to catch up.

But then as he's driving to his next client's house, his phone lights up on the seat next to him.

_So did you. I keep trying to figure out if that actually happened._

He smiles to himself, waits until he's parked in the driveway of his next house, then texts her back.

_Oh it happened. Stay tonight after practice._

He doesn't wait for a response.

He wasn't asking.

* * *

Rachel is completely distracted when she's hanging out with the girls. Brittany and Santana are curled up together on a lounge chair in the shade. Quinn is in the sun, her glasses over her eyes and wearing the first two piece she's worn all summer. Rachel is positioned between them all. She's grown more confident over the last few weeks, and she bought a new bikini the other day, bright pink with black strings. Yes, she has a string bikini. (Her dads don't need to know about this one...)

"I swear I was so bored last night, I actually almost called Puck," Santana says.

Rachel chokes on her lemonade.

(She's not sure if that's a joke. Santana is smiling and Brittany is pouting. Quinn is just laughing.)

"You okay, Rachel?" Quinn asks, lifting her sunglasses up as she looks over at the brunette.

"I'm fine!"

Quinn just shakes her head and rolls her eyes, then goes back to sunning herself.

The conversation shifts to the party Brittany wants to throw, then the vacation Santana is taking with her parents (_"Who goes to Mexico in the _summer_?"_) Quinn says something about some guy she met at the mall the other day, but won't give any more details, no matter how many questions the girls shower on her.

They order pizza for dinner, then afterward when Rachel checks the time, she realizes she's already running late for practice, and she throws on her shorts and tee shirt haphazardly.

"They're going to kill me!" she cries, gathering her things, throwing them into her bag. She hadn't meant to even stay for dinner, but then they said something about food, and her dads are both working late, and...

"Relax! As if they're ever on time," Santana says, laughing at how frantic Rachel is getting.

"No! You don't get it! This is our first practice since last weekend," she explains. "I have to go! Call me later!"

She curses herself for saying that, because she plans to be otherwise occupied 'later.'

She blushes even as she thinks it.

She's halfway to her car when Quinn comes running behind her, barefoot and wearing her shorts over her bathing suit bottoms. "Rachel!"

"Quinn, I can't...I'm so late!"

"I know, just wait," Quinn says. Rachel stops and they stand in front of one another. "You and Puck..."

"Quinn."

"Are you two...are you hooking up? Because when Santana said that, you seemed..."

Rachel rolls her eyes and tips her head back. She doesn't know what she and Noah are, if they're anything. She doesn't know if this is just physical, just for the summer, just for right now. She doesn't want to tell anyone in case it all crashes and burns before it even has a chance to really spark.

But she's never had a girlfriend before, and she thinks that this is what it's all about, telling one another things like this.

"We...we kissed," Rachel says quietly. Quinn literally squeals. "Shhh!"

"What? When? Did he...or did you? And...oh my god!"

"Stop it!" Rachel hisses. "It's...it was last night. We went swimming."

"It rained," Quinn says, confused.

"I know. We went to the lake."

"That's so romantic!"

"_Stop_!" Rachel laughs. "It was nice. It was...Quinn, I'll tell you the story later. I _really_ have to go."

"Fine! Call me after practice." Rachel blushes and bites her bottom lip. "Oh, my god. Fine. Call me when you're not busy making out with Puck."

"Quinn!" Rachel cries.

"Bye, Rachel," Quinn sings, a huge smile on her face. "Use a condom."

"_Quinn_!"

All Rachel hears is Quinn's laughter as she runs back around the side of the house.

* * *

When practice is supposed to be starting and Rachel still hasn't shown up, Puck wonders if she's already changed her mind or something. He knew they should have talked more about what that kiss (well, that few hours of making out) meant. But the thing is, he ignored it, kissed her every time she tried to talk, because he doesn't _know_ what it means.

He knows he likes her, alright? He like, likes hanging out with her. And she's super hot, which helps. And she can kiss like a fucking champ. But he's not really sure what he wants to do about all that. He's a shitty boyfriend. Seriously. He sucks at it. (Quinn will attest to this.) The thing with Rachel is, she'd like, train him or whatever. Shit. That makes it sound like he's a dog or something. No, that's not right. But she'd show him how to be a boyfriend. If he wants to be one, that is.

Maybe he does. Fuck if he knows.

But whatever.

Where is she?

"I'm here! I'm here!" she cries hurriedly, rushing into the garage. She's a half hour late. "I'm sorry! I lost track of time."

"Where the fuck have you been?" Puck mumbles.

"What are you wearing?" Artie asks.

"What's on your neck?" Finn pipes in.

Well, shit. Puck _likes_ what she's wearing (he can see her bathing suit tied at the back of her neck - totally hot - and a pair of shorts that pretty much _just_ cover her ass) and that thing on her neck? That's a hickey. Fuck yeah.

Rachel curses herself. She had her hair down earlier, strategically in place to cover that stupid mark on her neck. But then, on the way over, she got too hot and sick of the hair sticking to the back of her neck, so she pulled it into a ponytail.

She pulls the elastic from her hair and shakes it out. (She watches Puck watching her.)

"I was with the girls at Brittany's. And it's nothing," she says.

"Doesn't look like nothing," Finn says. He's so clueless. Artie is even smirking, because he knows what it is (just not who gave it to her.)

"I just...burnt myself with my curling iron!" she blurts out, proud of her lie. She's far too responsible to injure herself in such a pedestrian manner, but Finn doesn't seem to recognize that. She'd be offended if she didn't need him to buy her lie.

Puck laughs, then strums a chord loudly on his guitar. "Can we fuckin' _play_ now? Jesus, we've already lost a half hour 'cause Rachel doesn't own a watch. I don't wanna sit here and talk like a bunch of chicks for the rest of the night."

Finn rolls his eyes and Artie turns up the volume on Rachel's amp as it sits next to his. Puck winks at her when his back is to the other guys.

They go through their practice, and it ends up running a little long because they stop to talk about their show and the things that worked, the things that didn't. Rachel suggests they do one or two more ballads, and Finn agrees. Artie thinks it wouldn't be a bad idea, and Puck gives in, just because he knows he's outnumbered, and those old people in the bar seemed to dig swaying along to that shit.

Finn and Artie are talking about some ridiculous video game, so they don't notice the way Puck raises his brow and looks far too amused when Rachel leans forward to pick up her folder of music off the floor. Straight view down the front of her shirt. Nice.

Finn and Artie leave, neither of them thinking that it's weird that Rachel stays behind. She contemplates that for a moment and realizes that it's not all that strange for her to stay a few minutes later. It's funny, she thinks, that now that she and Noah have kissed, she can look back and see all the little things she tried to do to be around him.

As soon as Finn and Artie have pulled away, Puck walks up behind Rachel and grabs her hips, pulling her against him.

"You look so fucking hot right now."

"I'm sorry I was late," she says, turning in his arms despite how much she loves the feeling of his chest pressing against her back.

"I don't care when you get here if you look this fucking amazing." He leans down and kisses her, loving the way she moans when his hands slip down to rest on her ass. "Hey."

She laughs and pushes away from him. "Hi."

"Mom's not home until 11:00 tonight," he explains.

Her heart shouldn't race this much, she's sure of it. "Hannah?"

"Friend's house."

She gives him this fucking ridiculously sexy smile as she backs away from him, his hand in hers, and walks towards the door to the house.

Girl doesn't know what she's in for.

Turns out, as sexy as that bathing suit is, practically two little triangles of fabric and some string, he finds it much, _much_ sexier when he's pulling it off her.

And yeah, it's pretty adorable, the way she giggles when he practically growls and kisses her again after looking at her completely naked upper body.

So talking, again, comes second (well, last) to making out.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Last chapter! Thanks so much guys! You're awesome.

**

* * *

**

A few days later, Rachel is on top of him, literally fucking _torturing_ him with the way she's moving her hips, and she pulls away abruptly.

They're still wearing all their clothes (what the fuck's that about?) and they're listening to the Dave Matthews Band (the girl loves that shit; who knew?) and they're on his bed alone in his house.

"What's wrong?" he asks. Shit. He's really been hoping that she'll just like, miraculously tell him that she wants to have sex. Yeah, he's pretty sure that's a pipe dream. She won't even let him unbutton her shorts. _Ever_.

"I heard something," she whispers.

"No you didn't," he says, leaning up to kiss her. She puts her hand over his mouth and literally pushes him back against his pillow. (It's pretty hot, really.)

Then he hears the front door open.

Shit.

"Shit," he mumbles. He literally pushes her off him, and she lands on the mattress and lets out a squeak. "Open the door."

"Noah, we're here alone all the time."

"Rachel, my mom loves you. She'll fuckin' disown me if she thinks I'm corrupting you or something. Open the fucking door."

She smiles, then shakes her head and sighs dramatically as she crosses the room and pulls the door open. She briefly wonders why they had it shut in the first place, since they thought they had the whole evening alone.

Truth be told, she thinks the interruption might be for the best. They still haven't talked about what this is, and she's getting closer and closer to doing something that would make it very, very real. He knows that Quinn knows, and he's told Matt, but other than that it's just been between the two of them.

He sits up against his headboard, pulls a guitar magazine onto his lap, and glares at her when she giggles. She tries to sit next to him, but he pushes her away. She rolls her eyes and pushes the dirty clothes off his desk chair so she can sit down. She pulls it close to the bed and flips his magazine to the tablature pages. He briefly wonders what she's doing, then his mom appears in the doorway, and Rachel's off.

"You see? The tempo is perfect, and the lyrics, while the average listener might not think it, are quite poignant. I think It's some of Dylan's best work, which of course, isn't saying much, because I've never been that big of a Dylan fan. Daddy loves him, but I've always been more into James Taylor and Joni Mitchell and...Oh! Aviva!"

Puck doesn't know whether to be impressed or terrified.

"Hello, sweetie. How are you?" Aviva says sweetly, standing in the doorway.

"I'm doing well. Are you off work early?" Rachel asks.

"Our air conditioning unit broke, so they moved our patients to another wing, and didn't need all the staff. We were just getting in each others' way," Aviva explains. She looks at the mess on the floor (the mess Rachel created by throwing his shit off his chair.) "Noah, you should really tidy your room before you have company. I'm sure Rachel's room is spotless."

"You think Rachel is perfect," he mumbles.

"That's because she _is_, honey," Aviva says with a laugh. Rachel blushes and Puck rolls his eyes. Aviva turns to Rachel again, smiling at the way Rachel is idly stacking the magazines on Puck's desk. "You're staying for dinner, aren't you?"

"Oh, actually, I owe Noah a meal. I thought we might go out. Unless, of course, you were hoping on spending time with him, in which case he and I can reschedule," Rachel says.

Puck is trying hard not to laugh. Rachel doesn't owe him anything. He thinks it's pretty awesome that she's lying (_fibbing_, she'll say later) to his mom just so they can spend time together.

"No!" Aviva says far too quickly. Puck is suspicious. "No, don't you let me change your plans. I don't want to ruin your date." She sends Puck a look that is way too fucking transparent, and he groans and tips his head back, smacking it off his headboard. "You two have fun, then. I'll call Carole and see if she's free."

She leaves the room and Puck glares at Rachel.

"You hear that shit? She's fucking nuts, babe." Rachel waits until she can hear Aviva on the phone downstairs, then settles herself next to Puck on the bed and leans down, taking his face in her hands, and kisses him. _Hard_. "Whoa. What's that about?"

He wonders if she means for her forearm to brush against the front of his shorts. It does.

"Don't tell anyone, because I can't have people believing that this excessively masculine, possessive behaviour actually..."

"Rachel," he says, sounding exhausted. He's come to learn that if he just interrupts her rants like that, she'll make her point quicker.

"I like it when you call me babe," she admits.

He raises his brow and tugs her arm to pull her closer. "Yeah?" he asks, his voice low and his lips just inches from hers. She nods and moves to kiss him, but he won't let her. "Good. Now that my mom thinks we're fucking dating, I guess..."

She pulls away and looks at him. She's filled with nerves. He doesn't sound thrilled about this dating thing. "What?"

He stops himself just before he asks if she'll be his girlfriend. He is just not that kind of guy.

"I dunno. I guess we're dating."

She starts laughing. He doesn't look amused. "You guess?" He rolls his eyes. "Would you like more time to think about it?" She stands and straightens out her shirt. "Because I can go."

He grabs her wrist and pulls her back onto his lap, and she squeals. "Smart ass," he mumbles against her lips.

"You're ridiculous," she says quietly. "One of these days, you'll learn to deal with your emotions like a normal person."

He breathes out a laugh. "Yeah?" She nods and kisses him again. This time, she doesn't even care if his mother comes in. (He probably still does.) "Alright. You can teach me shit, and I can teach you shit."

"I beg your pardon?" she laughs. "Just what do you think you're going to teach me?"

He stares at her blankly for a moment, then pushes her away slightly. "Sex," he says, like it's just that obvious.

"Noah, I've...I've had sex," she tells him, like it's something he should have already assumed.

Well, no, he fucking hadn't.

He pushes her off him completely so she's sitting next to him, facing him. "What?"

"I was with Jesse for..."

"You _slept_ with that douchebag?!"

She's a little taken aback with how angry he seems about this.

But he is pissed. It's weird, because it's not like he cared at the time. He never actually gave it a second thought, her relationship with Jesse. But now that she's his girl - now that he wants her like he does - the thought of her ever being touched by anyone else is really fucking brutal. He's never felt this with any other girl. Maybe that's because, with the exception of Quinn, he's never really cared at all.

"Yes," she answers, because she doesn't know what else to say.

"And you didn't think you might want to fucking _tell_ me that?" he asks, eyes locked with hers.

"It never came up!" she reminds him. "This has only been...it hasn't even been a week! We've been just kissing, and you never pushed me."

"That's because I thought you were a virgin. Hell, if I'd known you already gave it up, I wouldn't have been holding back."

She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest. "That's a terrible thing to say," she tells him, doing her best not to cry. She grabs her purse and slips her feet back into her flip flops. "You're being a complete jerk, and you have _no_ right."

"Uh, pretty sure I do." He stands, too, crosses his arms and tries to look as pissed as possible.

"No, you don't," she says seriously, heading for the door. He reaches for her elbow and tries to hold her, but he doesn't know why, doesn't know what he's going to say. "I'm leaving."

She wants so badly for him to just apologize, to realize that he's wrong and give her a reason to stay.

He doesn't. He doesn't say anything.

So she walks out of his room, and he doesn't even hear her say goodbye to his mom. When he looks out his window to see her getting into her car, he watches her wipe a tear.

Fuck.

It takes about 45 seconds for his mom to barge into his room and ask him what's going on.

"Nothing," he mumbles.

"Noah, what did you do?"

"Nothing! Christ!"

"You made her cry!" she argues. "That's not nothing. Whatever you did, you apologize. I know I bother you about her being your future wife..."

"Mom! _Fuck_!" he barks, running his hand over his face.

"But Rachel is just a sweet girl and a wonderful friend. I hope that you realize that before it's too late."

He sighs and grabs his keys and wallet, stuffing his phone into his pocket.

He doesn't say anything to his mom as he passes her and jogs down the stairs.

For all the shit that woman talks, every once in a while she actually says something that makes sense.

As he's driving through town towards Rachel's place, he tries her cell, but she doesn't answer. He dials again two minutes later, but gets the same result.

He curses and throws his phone across the cab of his truck, mostly because he still can't figure out if this whole thing is his fault or hers.

* * *

Rachel can't believe that they became a couple and broke up within the span of five minutes. She can't believe his overreaction to her past. (Really? _He's_ judging _her_?) She can't believe she's so upset over this. She shouldn't be, really. He was barely her boyfriend. She doesn't think she was this upset over she and Jesse breaking up, and they dated for months.

What is it about Noah Puckerman that makes her so crazy?

She finds herself at Brittany's place, because she knows that if she went home he'd just show up eventually, and she doesn't want to speak to him. He's said enough already.

Brittany answers the door and Rachel is ushered into the house, and she actually laughs - really laughs - because she realizes how ridiculous she's being, crying to her girlfriends over something her boyfriend did.

She tells them the whole story, and Brittany is totally shocked to learn that Rachel and Puck have been making out. After about five minutes, she just shrugs her shoulder. "I guess I've seen it coming," she says, and that's her final word on that matter.

Rachel's phone rings no less than five times in a half hour, and Quinn begs her to answer, but Rachel refuses.

So Quinn excuses herself and texts Puck, letting him know where Rachel is, that she's really upset. Quinn figures that if Rachel won't help herself, she'll do it. It's clear Rachel is crazy about Puck and vice versa, though neither is ready to admit it yet.

When Puck shows up 10 minutes later, standing on the front steps of Brittany's house with his hands in his pockets, Rachel rolls her eyes and scowls at Quinn.

"Would you just go?" Quinn asks, not caring that it's the four of them standing there together. "You two obviously need to talk."

"No," Rachel says stubbornly. She actually crosses her arms. Puck thinks it's cute, the way she's trying to ignore him, but he noticed the way she looked at him when she saw him.

"Rach, come on," he says, turning towards her, boxing the other two girls out. "Come to the lake with me."

"Noah, I..."

Quinn interrupts by literally pushing the couple out the door. It opens a couple seconds later and she thrusts Rachel's purse into Puck's hands. He quickly gives it to Rachel.

"I have nothing to say to you," Rachel states.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" he asks. She scowls at him. "Rachel, just...just come with me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "And I'll use the whole drive to come up with the best fucking apology you've ever heard."

She lets out a huff and stomps off towards his truck. He figures that's something.

She changes the radio to the station she always listens to, and a few minutes into the drive, when a shitty Celine Dion song comes on, she cranks the volume. He knows it's just to piss him off, but he figures he deserves it.

She doesn't know what kind of apology he's going to give her, but she hopes it's a freaking good one. She's mad at him, and she's mad at Quinn for telling him where she was, and she's mad that he obviously used the lake to lure her with him, like this is their sacred place or something and she can't say no to him if he wants to bring her here. And she's mad at him for knowing that would work.

He parks in the same spot he did _that night_, but it's light out this time. There still isn't anyone around, and when he switches off the ignition, she still refuses to look at him.

He hops out of the truck and hopes that she'll follow. She does, after a few minutes. She walks over to where he's sitting on top of a picnic table and sits down next to him.

"So where's this apology, then?" she asks coldly, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"Look, I'm sorry I said what I said," he says. She wonders if he means to sound like having to apologize physically hurts him. "I just...fuck. I thought about that asshole touching you, and I fucking lost it, okay? I don't want..."

"You and I were barely even speaking at the time, Noah," she reminds him, turning toward him a little bit. "You can't possibly hold that against me. And you can't act like you're some saint."

"Ouch."

"It's true," she says curtly. His head is hung. She wonders if he really understands why she's so upset. "You made me feel like...like a slut."

He looks over at her quickly, turning so their knees are pressed together. "What? Rachel, _no_."

"That's how I felt. You just assume that since I'm not a virgin that I would have automatically slept with you if you'd tried. Well, I hate to tell you, but that's not how it works with me, Noah. I'm not one of those girls. I'm not like the girls you usually date."

"I know that."

"So why can't you respect it?"

"Hey!" he says, offended. "I do respect it. Have I pushed you? Fuck, I like to think I'm a pretty good gauge of if a girl's ready or not. You didn't seem like you were ready."

"But then you said..."

"I know what I said. I was pissed."

"You can't use that excuse on me, Noah," she tells him. "You're going to have to explain yourself better than that, because that's not reason enough to act the way you acted."

Well, shit. He seriously wants to ask if she hangs out with his mom when he's not around or something.

"Can I get a free pass this one time?" he asks, smirking at her. He sees the smile she's trying to hide. "Look, Rachel, the thing is...I actually...I fucking like, care about you or whatever, and thinking about someone else doing that...being with you that way was just..."

"You care about me?" she asks quietly, looking at her hands.

He looks at her in confusion. "Was it a fucking secret?"

She laughs and looks over at him. No, it wasn't a secret. It's nice to hear it, though. "You never really told me."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

She sighs and tips her head back. "You know, you make it very difficult to stay angry with you."

"I know," he says, draping his arm around her. "I'm kinda awesome that way."

She leans against him and he kisses her hair, then he's pulling away from her and tugging his tee shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" she asks, laughing when he tosses his shirt at her.

"Swimming."

She watches as he kicks off his shoes, winks at her, then heads for the water. She gets the impression that even if he wasn't wearing board shorts, he'd still be hell bent on swimming.

He calls to her once he's out about 20 feet, treading water. He tells her to come in, and she looks around, noticing that there's not a soul around.

She's not wearing a bathing suit. She doesn't care.

She pulls her shirt off, then unbuttons her shorts, and her teal underwear and matching bra look really good against her tanned skin, she thinks. She heads for the water, and she knows he's watching her intently, but she doesn't care about that either. He pulls her against him as soon as she's in front of him, and she drapes her arms over his shoulders.

"So, we good?" he asks. He figures that since her legs are locked around his waist and she's trusting him to keep them both afloat (how is he even doing that?) she's probably accepted his apology.

"I forgive you, if that's what you mean."

"Good," he says, just before he kisses her.

He feels kinda badass. They've made it through their first fight.

* * *

"Noah and I have an announcement to make," Rachel states, standing at the front of the garage with her hands at her sides.

Artie starts laughing. "Finally."

"Cool," Finn says.

So yeah, that's how Finn and Artie find out.

* * *

They don't so much tell his mom as they just sit on the sofa watching a movie, then get carried away making out and she comes home and flicks on the light.

Puck thinks she's going to cry or something. It's stupid.

"Oh, I _knew_ this was going to happen!" she says happily, buzzing around the room, picking up the empty glasses Puck had every intention (no, he really didn't) of cleaning up later.

Then she flicks off the light, tells them she's going upstairs, and Puck shrugs his shoulder, then pins Rachel to the sofa again. She laughs and tries to tell him that they can't make out when his mom's home, but he shuts her up with a kiss, then does that thing with his tongue that makes her moan, and apparently she stops caring.

* * *

At their next show, Finn brings some girl from Carmel he met at work, and Artie has Tina come, and Matt and Mike show up with Brittany and Santana (and no one really understands how all that works.) Quinn comes, but she's pouting about being the only single person there, so she calls this guy she met, and he meets her at the bar.

During their break between sets, this 30-something couple walks up and asks Rachel if the band is really busy, or if they could potentially play a wedding in two weeks' time. Of course, Rachel takes the job on the spot. Puck immediately asks how much it'd pay.

$4,000.

Four. _Thousand_. Dollars.

Sure, they'll have to learn some new tunes so they have enough to fill an entire night of people getting hammered and dancing, but fuck. He can think of worse things he'd do for a grand in his pocket, tax free.

So yeah, that makes playing their second set in this shitty bar a lot easier.

* * *

"What are you going to wear?" Rachel asks him one day, laying on his bed as he lazily strums his acoustic next to her.

"Huh?"

"To this wedding," she clarifies, glancing around.

His room is much, much cleaner now that she bugs him every time she's in there about how he's such a slob that she might have to break up with him. Empty threats, he knows, but still. It's just easier to pick up his shit than to have her nagging him all the time. And yeah, it's kinda nice, having room to move, and clothes put away that he knows are clean.

His mother says Rachel's a good influence. She's probably right.

"I dunno. Playing guitar in a suit would suck."

"You know," she says, straddling his legs, his guitar between them, "this feels like before our first show, when you were worried about what I was going to wear."

"That's because most of your clothes? Babe, they aren't good," he says. He's grinning at her, and he totally expects her to smack his chest, which is exactly what she does. "C'mon. I'm kidding. You know I love all that argyle."

"You're such a jerk," she laughs. She gets up and flounces over to his closet, looking through his stuff until she gasps and spins around. "We should go shopping!"

"No."

"Noah!"

"No," he says, smiling at her. "I've got shit to wear. And I look good in a shirt and tie, baby, you know that."

She pouts, but rushes back over to the bed. "You do."

He kisses her and never stops playing the song he's playing. He knows she loves that shit too.

They've been doing this for a few weeks now. It's the beginning of August, which kind of sucks, because summer is almost over, really, and that just means that he has to go back to fucking school, which he hates more than anything in life.

"What are you gonna wear?" he asks.

The little smile she gives him right before she licks her lips tells him that he's going to like whatever she wears to this thing.

"I bought something special."

He hopes to god there's something special for underneath it, too.

You see, they haven't slept together, and that's fine. he's not pushing the issue, because he doesn't really care, with Rachel. Weird, right? Sure, he _wants_ to sleep with her, and yeah, he _thinks_ about it pretty much all the time, but he doesn't want to fuck up what they have. At all. And besides, it's not like they haven't done...other stuff. That's all kinda new, but it's still fucking amazing. Girl is multi-talented, let's put it that way.

"I bet you did," he says.

His guitar is quickly forgotten.

So is the fact that they have food on the way. Puck is not impressed when the doorbell rings just as Rachel's bra has hit the floor.

* * *

So when the couple who hired them decides that they're going to spring for hotel rooms so the band doesn't have to drive from the resort back to Lima after the reception, Puck actually starts getting nervous.

Let's be honest. There's no way he and Rachel are sleeping in separate rooms. And if they're in a room together, alone, no interruptions...well, with the way things have been going lately (and they've been going _good_) he's fairly certain that they aren't just going to be sleeping.

So why's he nervous? Because this is Rachel. And this is a fucking...relationship, or whatever. Neither of them are virgins, sure, and they both know this is an inevitable thing, them sleeping together. But the thing is, there are feelings and shit now, and Puck isn't really sure how to do all that.

So he asks for help.

He regrets it immediately.

After she stops laughing in his face, Quinn actually gives him some good advice.

"Look," she says, "a girl like Rachel expects things, okay? Like romance, and sweetness, and she's definitely not going to want to feel like you're just assuming it's going to happen."

"Yeah. Got that," he says, remembering that first fight, the one that almost broke them up before they even started.

"So just relax about it!" Quinn laughs. He rolls his eyes at her. "Don't have a box of condoms in your guitar case or anything." He raises his brow at her. "Well, have _some_."

He sighs and flops back on her bed in this weird mint green room she lives in at Brittany's house. "It's just different with her, you know?"

"Aww," Quinn coos, laying next to him, linking her arm through his. "You're a feelings virgin."

"Fuck you."

She starts laughing again.

Bitch.

* * *

The wedding is pretty awesome, he has to admit. The crowd is all over the band's blend of hits from the 80's and 90's. Puck thinks one woman is absolutely going to lose her mind when they start playing Del Amitri's Roll To Me. The newlyweds dance along to Jewel's You Were Meant For Me, which Puck rolls his eyes about, because it's the one song Rachel sings lead on, and everyone fucking loves it, of course. (He still kisses her after, leans across her keyboard and lays one on her, and the crowd seems to love that, too.)

It's fun, though. This is definitely the most responsive crowd they've had (not that they're veterans, by any means) and it's nice to have an audience that actually looks like they're having fun and it's not just the alcohol. (Except for that one guy who's been doing Jager shots all night long...)

This walking cliché of a bridesmaid hits on Puck between sets when he's getting a bottle of water, and he makes no mistake, telling her very quickly that he's off the market. (He sends her in the direction of Jager Guy.)

They're all exhausted when the night ends and they start tearing down their stuff. Rachel finishes first, since she has the least amount of gear, and when she tries to start helping Artie, Puck grabs her hand and pulls her away from the group.

"Why don't you go up to bed?" he suggests, slipping their room key into her hand.

"But there's more stuff, and..."

"Go," he insists. "I'll be up in a bit."

She's nervous. She knows what's going to happen tonight. She thinks that maybe a little time alone with help relax her. She can go up, calm herself down, and then be ready for him when he comes into the room. Thinking about that sends a wave of something through her body.

She leans forward to kiss him, since she's in heels and it's a little easier (she doesn't have to go so far) and says goodnight to the guys.

When she gets to the room, she reaches for her suitcase. She feels bad not using the other room, since this couple so generously paid for the band to stay at the resort. But then she sees the king sized bed in the room, and thinks about spending the whole night alone with Noah, sleeping in his arms, and the guilt ebbs away.

She unzips her black strapless dress and lets it fall to the floor, then steps into the bathroom and dabs some water onto her face, careful not to smudge her makeup. She pulls her hair from its elaborate updo, and combs her fingers through the ends. It's a little messy, curled wildly from being up all day, but she thinks it looks kind of sexy, too.

Stepping back into the room, she pulls off her strapless bra and reaches for the deep purple satin thigh-length nightgown she brought. Noah is going to love this. She folds her dress and sets it in her suitcase, then checks the time and tries to guess how long it'll take Noah to get through tearing down their equipment.

She doesn't really know what to do until then.

She sits back on the bed and crosses her legs, attempting a few 'sexy' poses before she realizes how ridiculous that is and rolls her eyes at herself. She's like one of those girls in those terrible teen movies, and she refuses to be. She tells herself to relax, that she's got nothing to prove to him anyway.

Noah takes longer than she thought.

When he steps into the room it's almost completely dark, and he smiles. He wonders how much she messed with the lighting in the last half hour to get it just right.

Then he sees her laying on the bed in this amazing slip thing. God, she looks beautiful.

Too bad she's fucking _sleeping_.

He actually laughs. Maybe he should have expected that if they planned anything, things wouldn't work out. He should have known.

He loosens his tie and tosses it onto the table in the room, then unbuttons his shirt as he watches her sleep. Walking over to the bed, he pulls down the sheets on the side she's not sleeping on, then lifts her up easily and lays her down again, covering her over. It's just not happening tonight. He's not upset or mad or anything. Disappointed, maybe, but not mad. If he's being honest, he's exhausted too.

He strips down to his boxers and switches off the light before climbing into bed next to her and pulling her back against him. Her nightgown is smooth against his skin, and her warm body feels amazing pressed up against his.

* * *

It happens one night, completely unexpectedly (she should have known it would.)

He takes her to the lake, and she teases him for being a romantic, always bringing her back to that spot, but he scoffs at her and tells her it's just quiet and he's trying to wear her down and convince her to skinnydip.

That's not really a lie.

She's laying on the sand at the shore on a blanket, and he's got his guitar in his hands as he sits next to her.

"What is that?" she asks when he starts picking a quiet song.

"You've never heard it?" She shakes her head and watches his hands move. "'S'called Nightswimming." He watches her, just staring at him, then she licks her lips subtly. (Shit, he should have thought of this sooner.) "It's an REM song. Original is on piano, but I like it on guitar."

She wonders if he really _is_ a romantic. She's seen enough of it that she could certainly make a case. He won't say it, but the way he just explained all that basically said, _'I learned this song for you because I knew you'd like it.' _She's pretty fluent in the absurd language he speaks by now.

She sits up and leans over to kiss him as he plays, and he doesn't even mess up (that's how awesome he is.)

He fumbles a little bit when she stands up and takes her shirt off, though. She isn't wearing a bra beneath her tank top. Her hands go to the button of her shorts and he stops playing all together. She pushes them down her legs along with her underwear and his guitar ends up next to him. He's never seen _all of her_ naked before. Certain parts, yes, and he's not complaining about that, but she's always been a little nervous or shy or modest or whatever the fuck. This, her naked and standing in front of him, is new.

"Rachel..."

"I'm convinced," she says, pulling her hair from its ponytail, slipping the elastic onto her wrist. "Come swimming?"

He stands up super-fast, and she giggles when he tries to reach for her, then squeals and takes off towards the water. He's not even out of his shorts when he sees her dive beneath the surface.

How amazing is his life right now?

She's got her back to him when he gets to her in the water, and he knows she hasn't looked. Apparently, some of that modesty is still kicking around. She's standing up to her shoulders in water, and he wraps his arms around her from behind, knowing that he's already half hard, and it's not going to take much (anything) to get him all the way there, all the way ready for her.

He pushes her wet hair off her shoulder with one hand, the other settled on her stomach as they stand there in the dark. As he kisses her shoulder, she lifts one arm and brings her hand up to rest on the back of his neck.

"That was a mean trick," he says softly. He feels her laugh.

"Me? You played that song."

"You got naked and ran away," he tells her, tightening his hold. And no, he can't stop thinking about the fact that she is completely bare, not too shy to show all of herself to him anymore.

"You've got me now," she says in this voice he's never heard before.

He's hard against her back and she likes it. It's been a week since the wedding, since they woke up tangled together and she laughed and apologized and they ordered room service for breakfast and ate in bed, squeezing out every last possible second until checkout. She remembers the way he looked at her when she stood from the bed in her slip, and when she apologized again, told him she wished their night had gone differently, he'd been so sweet about it. ("Babe, it was perfect," he'd said, then cleared his throat, looked away and told her to 'pack her shit.')

So yes, she wants him, and she wants him right now, and in this lake, while it's kind of 'their' spot, is not the spot to do _this_.

His hand slips down her stomach and between her legs as he kisses her neck, but the stupid water is messing everything up. He can tell she's wet, but the water is washing it away, so he turns her in his arms and presses himself against her stomach.

"Yeah, I've got you," he says. She leans up and kisses him, tongue tracing the seam of his lips, and for once, it's him moaning first. It doesn't help that somehow, her hand has managed to wrap around him and holy shit he needs dry land. Stupid lake! "Rachel, I want..."

"What?" she asks, peppering kisses to his jaw as she teases him with her fingertips. "Tell me."

It's like their roles are reversed. She's playing the aggressor now, and he's so turned on by it that it's hard to speak.

"I wanna be inside you so bad," he says, groaning again when she removes her hand. Catch-22. He doesn't want to come yet, but damn, the girl gives a grade A hand job.

She kisses him hard, both arms coming up around his neck, and her legs locking around his waist. Despite the water that's completely destroying this moment (as if he's going to take her for the first time in a goddamn lake) he can still feel her, hot against him, and her heels are digging into the small of his back, chest pressing against his as she tries to get as close as possible.

It's not close enough for either of them.

"The truck," she breathes out, trying to detach from him. He's having none of it, holding onto her thighs. "Noah, please."

"Rachel." She shifts her hips, smiles when he curses. "Rachel, I can't...not in my truck. Not with you. It's too...this is..."

She giggles and runs her hand through his mohawk, leans in and kisses him quickly. "You're being such a girl right now."

"You're acting like me," he says, totally surprised. "It's freaking me out."

"You want me to play the blushing virgin?" she asks, and she arches her back a little, pushing her lower half closer to his.

"Oh, my god," he grounds out. She looks far too accomplished. "Rachel, stop that. You can't fucking...I'll come right now." She doesn't even _blush_. Who the fuck is this girl? "I can't fuck you in my truck. I can't."

She rests her hands on his shoulders and regards him seriously. That freaks him out too.

"Noah, I swear to god, this side of you...it's...it's beautiful, and don't scoff and roll your eyes at my use of the word. It's sweet, and I love that you want this to be perfect, but I am telling you right now that this, you and me at this spot, it _is_ perfect, and I want you _so_ badly." He's just staring into her eyes (they look black on account of the darkness and the fact that she's all turned on.) He fucking loves it when she takes charge of anything. He's realized that much. "So please, _please_ will you get the condom you think I don't know you keep in your guitar case, and just..." His hand moves from her shoulder down her back, and her eyes flutter closed. "God, would you just make love to me?"

He's kissing her as he walks them towards the shore.

Because _fuck yeah_, he'll make love to her.

(Make love? He'll go with it. He's not about to correct her. Besides, 'fucking' doesn't sound right either. He thinks it's somewhere in the middle between the two, and he doesn't know of a word for that.)

It's basically pitch black now, no source of light other than a sliver of a moon, and she works on gathering their clothes as he reaches into his guitar case, then puts the instrument away while holding that essential in his hand. He tries really hard not to stare at her as she opens the door of his truck and and sets their clothes on the floorboards of the passenger seat. But he figures he's allowed to stare, given that she's his girl and she's telling him to have sex with her.

He sets his guitar in the bed of the truck, then walks up behind her and wraps the blanket around her shoulders to dry her off a bit. She leans back against him, and he needs her immediately. Like, yesterday or last month or last fall when he dated her. Right fucking now will have to do.

He gets in first, moves across to the drivers seat and turns the key, and there's a mix CD she made him playing from the speakers. She's shivering a little bit next to him, and he doesn't know if she's cold, or just anticipating what's going to happen next.

She can't believe she's about to make love to Noah in his truck with this mix of sweet little acoustic songs playing. If this is just a summer fling, she wouldn't have this night any other way.

(She's way too far gone for this to just be a fling.)

Moving closer to her, he kisses her, his hand sliding down her back, pushing the blanket from around her shoulders.

Then she's beneath him and he's inside her for the first time and it's better than anything has ever felt to him in his entire life.

* * *

Their blissful post-sex bubble lasts two days.

Which is pretty good, as far as blissful post-sex bubbles go.

The fight happens at practice, when Rachel stands in front of the three boys, hands on her hips, and insists that she's had enough of this background singing _nonsense_, that she wants a lead, and _no_, that _one_ song at that _one_ show _does not count_.

Finn is completely indifferent, says that whatever they tell him to play, he'll play. Artie says nothing, just tunes his bass, even though it was already tuned, and practically breathes a sigh of relief when his phone rings, wheels out of the garage to take the call.

No, those two aren't the problem.

"Rachel, from the start, you know you were backup. I don't understand what the fucking problem is all of a sudden," Puck says, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"I want to _sing a song_, Noah! My talent is squandered just singing thirds and fifths and you know it."

"I shoulda told you to check your ego at the door," he mumbles. She takes a step closer and even _Finn_ winces, and he's 15 feet away.

She points at him sharply with her index finger. "My ego is not the one causing problems, Noah. Yours is. I want one song. One song! I haven't gotten to perform anything all summer. It's been your spotlight, and...yes, I agreed to that, but...I want things to change!"

He rolls his eyes. (Finn bows his head at that.) Rachel is not impressed. Artie comes back into the garage and his eyes flick over to Finn, as if to ask if it's _really_ this tense.

"Whatever. School starts soon, and then you'll be lead again, and we'll all be fucking forced to listen to you sing every damn song anyway," he says. Both Finn and Artie look at him like he's lost his fucking mind.

That is not the right thing to say to Rachel. And maybe the point is valid, but the wording? _Shit_. Finn looks anywhere but at her, and Artie carefully covers his lap with his bass, as though he's the one she'll freak out at.

To their surprise, she doesn't really freak out at all.

Well, not as bad as they assumed.

She shoves the sheet music she's been holding into Noah's chest so hard that he stumbles back a bit, catching the papers before they fall to the floor. She balls her little fists at her sides, turns on a dime, and marches into the house, hair swishing around her like it does _every fucking time she storms out of anywhere_.

"Dude," Finn says, shaking his head as the door slams behind her.

"Whatever," Puck says. "Summer of '69. And don't fucking rush it this time, alright? Some of us got lines to sing, here."

* * *

Rachel is nowhere close to tears. Not even an option.

She's shaking with anger instead.

And she's forgotten that Noah's mother is home.

"Rachel?" Aviva says quietly, stepping into the kitchen, where Rachel is standing and taking a long drink from a bottle of water.

"Your son," Rachel says. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head at herself. "No offense, but he is _the most _hard-headed, stubborn, egoistical megalomaniac I've ever met. And I've met _me_!"

Aviva chuckles a little bit, sits down at the table and pulls out the chair next to her. "Come have a chat."

Rachel thinks that sounds like just about the best thing she could do. She takes a seat, then toys with the corner of the placemat in front of her.

"He makes it sound like it's torture to hear me sing," she says quietly.

"Oh, that can't possibly be true," Aviva says, dismissing the notion completely. "He told me you've got the most amazing voice he's ever heard."

Rachel blushes. She doesn't know why. She's been getting compliments on her talent and performances since she was a baby (no, really, she has) and this should not affect her. But Noah has never said those words to her. She shouldn't need him to.

"I don't even know why I care so much," Rachel admits. Now she's in the neighbourhood of tears. "It's just a silly band. Right?" She looks up at Aviva, who's wearing this sympathetic expression, as if to ask Rachel if she really believes those words. "I just thought...I don't know what I thought."

"Rachel, might this have something to do with the fact that school is starting soon?"

She's confused now. "I love school."

Aviva laughs again. "I'm sure you do, but this summer...I feel like this has been a big summer, for both you _and_ Noah," she says. Rachel thinks the woman sounds like she knows far too much, knows things Rachel herself doesn't know. "I wouldn't want you to throw away your last days of summer because you're angry over a song."

And that's probably the moment Rachel realizes she's not angry over a song. It's not about the song at all.

She stands abruptly and smoothes out her summer dress. "Thank you for the talk, Aviva. I really appreciate it. I think I'll just head home now."

"The boys are still practicing."

"I know," Rachel says. She can hear Noah singing, the pulse of the bass seeping into the house. "I'm not really feeling up to it."

She's out the door before Aviva can say anything else.

And because Rachel is never one to back down from anything, she walks through the garage and right out the door without looking at Noah at all, backs out of the driveway while the boys play Little Miss Can't Be Wrong.

* * *

Puck pulls off his sweaty shirt and throws it into his hamper as hard as he can, but it doesn't make him feel any better. Lesson of the day? Rachel can be a cold bitch when she's mad.

And look, it's not even that he really cares all that much if she sings one song. Whatever. The song was kind of lame and not like anything in the rest of their repertoire, but he doesn't really care that much.

He just cares that she feels like she's fucking _entitled_ to sing lead, especially since the deal from the beginning was that she wouldn't.

He grabs his cell phone and types out a text, then grabs a clean shirt and heads for his truck with his angriest CD in his hand, because that mix Rachel made just is not going to work for him right now.

He's already sitting on the swings at the local park when she walks up with two milkshakes in her hand. Finally, a woman who can take a damn order.

(That makes it sound like he gives a lot of them. He really doesn't. He just really fucking wants this chocolate shake.)

"What's going on?" Quinn asks, her white skirt flowing around her as she sits on the swing next to him, slips her feet out of her flip flops, and starts pushing herself back and forth a little. "You're not hanging out with Rachel?" she asks, and he can fucking hear her smirking, and he doesn't appreciate it.

"I'm not with her all the time," he grumbles, twisting the swing's chain around his free hand.

"You pretty much have been." She's teasing him. He doesn't appreciate it.

"Don't fucking start with me, Q."

When he looks over at her, she can tell something's wrong. She's only ever seen him like this once, and that was last summer when Santana threatened to cut him off and he was so mad he'd thrown a pitch so hard during his ball game that he knocked the breath out of his catcher when it hit his chest.

(What kind of fucking catcher isn't set to catch a pitch when he knows it's coming?)

"What'd you do?" she asks.

"Why do you just assume that I'm the one who fucked things up?" he asks, a little too loudly. "She's the one who threw the fucking fit in the first place. I swear to god, that chick has a diva attitude the size of...of..._you_, four months ago. Probably bigger, if that's even fucking possible." Quinn, he can tell, is trying really hard not to punch him or get up and leave. Or laugh, maybe. "And you know what the fucking worst thing is? I didn't even do anything wrong! I told her from the beginning that it's my fucking band, and I'm lead. She agreed to play with us on those terms. What's the big fucking deal?"

Quinn furrows her brow, laughs humourlessly as the pieces fall into place. "You have met Rachel Berry, haven't you?" He looks confused. "That's the big deal! I have a pretty good feeling that she didn't just join that band for the love of music, like she's been trying to tell everyone all summer long. You ever think she just wanted to be around you?"

"That's not what's..."

"Think about it," she tells him. "She agreed to sing backup so that she could spend time with you, and this is how you repay her? Not to mention, you're seeing each other now, so everything's different by default."

"I don't want it to be different," he says.

"Do you want to break up with her?"

"What?!" he asks quickly. "No!"

She laughs softly and sips her shake. "You see, there's this thing people do in relationships sometimes. It's called a _compromise_."

"So I gotta let her sing just so I can keep getting laid? That's fucking bullshit!"

She blinks at him.

He realizes she was not aware that he was getting laid. (And so it's only happened once, but c'mon, he fully intended on that being a regular thing.)

"Well, that's...certainly one way of putting it," she says quietly, a smirk on her lips.

"Look, don't fucking tell Rachel I told you. She probably already wants to castrate me. I don't need to give her any more reason."

"So you admit you did something wrong."

"Hell no." He's stoic, smug, and she doesn't believe him for a second.

"Uh huh."

He rolls his eyes and tips his head back, then looks over at her as she swings back and forth.

"You know, this conversation woulda been more fun if you still hated her."

She laughs and doesn't say anything about the time when he hated Rachel, too. They both know she's thinking it.

They sit there for a while, and he realizes he's going to have to do something big to apologize to Rachel.

But he kinda thinks she should apologize to him, too.

* * *

He's up until 3:00 am playing guitar. He's not gonna go all Say Anything (he's not a pansy.)

(Thing is, he's pretty sure that a simple apology would work with Rachel. She's not going to make him jump through hoops to get back on level ground. She's cool that way.)

But still...this better fucking work.

* * *

You see, Quinn had casually mentioned to him the night before that Rachel was going to be spending the day with the girls at Brittany's house.

It's a Monday, and he's supposed to be working all day long, but a phone call and a little white lie (_"Sorry, Mr. Scott, I'm pretty sick today. Can't come by."_) and here he is, walking around the side of Brittany's house with nothing but his board shorts on. He hears Rachel's laugh before he sees her, and it makes him smile, but fuck, they're still fighting, so he wipes that off his face and takes a deep breath before walking up the steps onto the deck.

Santana sees him first. "Hey, loser."

Rachel turns her head to look at him. She's laying on a lounge chair, wearing a pair of aviators that she stole from him that, admittedly, look amazing on her, and she has that black bikini from the beginning of the summer on.

"Noah," she says. She sees the guitar in his hand and looks at him like he's nuts. "What are you doing?"

He sits down on the chair next to her, nudging her over a little as she sits up. "Make some room, Berry. Christ."

She sits up a little more, bends her knees. "What are you doing?" she repeats.

There are four girls looking at him when he strums the first chord. Three of those girls have no idea what song he's playing.

One looks like she's about to either cry, or break her face from smiling. (You know, if that last thing is even possible.)

"I was thinkin'," he says as he picks through the intro. He pulls a tattered stack of sheet music from his back pocket and lays the pages out so they can both see. "If we sped up the tempo a notch and had Finn come in here - " He points to a spot he's marked. " - This might not be so bad."

Rachel pulls him towards her by the back of the neck and kisses him in front of everyone. He flips Santana off when he hears her mumble something obscene. Rachel doesn't see that, on account of her eyes being closed.

"Thank you," Rachel breathes out. "But you don't have to do this. It's your band, and I..."

"Fuck that. You're awesome, and I'm gonna show you off at our show this weekend."

She kisses him again. This time, his hand slips into her hair and there's tongue, and like all their kisses, it's pretty awesome.

Until Santana throws a handful of ice cubes at them. "Either play something, or go somewhere else to make out," she says. Totally not joking.

Puck starts playing guitar.

Rachel shakes her head, leans over and speaks into his ear. "Let's get out of here."

He and Quinn share a quick smile as Rachel drags him out of the yard, her clothes in her free hand.

They get back to his place and his mom's still at work, and Rachel's still in just her bikini.

But not for long.

They work on the song after, and when Finn and Artie show up, Rachel's in her denim shorts and one of Noah's tee shirts, sleeves rolled up and the bottom tied in a knot at the back, showing her stomach.

When she runs inside to get them all some water halfway through their practice, Artie casually asks what's happened to Rachel this summer.

Puck's answer is very smug and, as far as he's concerned, the truth.

"I did."

* * *

Rachel absolutely brings the house down at their last show of the summer. She sings two songs (Stay by Lisa Loeb, and Fast Car by Tracy Chapman) and everyone in the damn room (all their friends are there, so that helps) goes nuts for her.

When she sings the last verse of Stay, she catches his eye and gives him this private little smile, and he realizes for the first time that this has been the best summer he's ever had. Mostly because of this girl who's standing there, eyes closed, holding a microphone, singing a song that he's pretty sure she picked because it reminds her of him.

Their parents have abolished their curfews for the night (Puck doesn't really have one, and Rachel's dads understand that this is the last big night of her summer.) After the show, after Puck threatens to kick the ass of a drunk college guy who's blatantly hitting on Rachel, they find themselves at the lake.

Of course they do.

It's a cooler night than most, probably the coolest one all summer, and Rachel's dark denim shorts and black halter aren't exactly warm. They're sitting in the cab of his truck listening to music, and he's got his back to the drivers side door, one leg up on the seat and her leaning back against his chest as he toys with the gold leaf attached to her long necklace.

He's no sucker, but this feels really fucking good, just the two of them and Dave Matthews, which has become the soundtrack to their summer.

He's just about to start singing along to Crash when she tells him she loves this song, and so he nixes that idea, because he just doesn't do that shit.

(But maybe he'll learn to play it on guitar, and randomly bust it out some day when she's trying not to make out with him or something. Genius plan.)

"Noah?"

"Hmm?" He kisses her temple, and no, he won't admit to anyone else that he's this sweet when they're alone together. He knows she won't either. She's always telling him she likes that it's their secret.

That's what you call a fucking gold ticket, right there.

"What happens when school starts?" Her voice is a little too quiet for his liking.

"No more sleeping in, no more three hour band practices, no more skinny dipping at the lake..."

"I'm serious," she says, laughing softly. "I mean with you and me."

"What the fuck do you think happens, Rachel?" He's a little pissed that she's even entertaining the idea that things won't stay the same as they are, just in a different season.

"I don't know. You're always saying you hate relationships." She pulls away and sits on her knees on the seat, facing him.

"Well, I've never really had one other than this. I usually just say that to get you to stop like, trying to sign me up for couples' pottery classes."

She laughs and shoves at his chest. "When have I ever..."

"Matter of time, babe." He's smirking and she rolls her eyes, still smiling. "Look, I'm gonna suck at this. You're probably gonna be pissed at me a lot of the time, but that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try. Or whatever."

She leans in to kiss him. "You're better at this than you think," she says sweetly. "And as long as you're trying, I'm...I'm in."

He grins and pulls her closer. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I think we're good together, Noah."

He's playing with (untying) the string holding her top together at the back of her neck when he kisses her. "We are," he says.

And so that little shred of uncertainty Rachel was feeling completely disappears when he kisses her.

This is very much not a summer fling.

* * *

The first day of school, Rachel realizes they're in the same English class.

As far as Puck is concerned, she is _way_ too fucking excited about this.

They grab seats next to one another, and he laughs at the way she sits ramrod straight with her pen in her hand and the date written neatly at the top right hand corner of the first page of her new notebook.

He's reminded of all the reasons he used to call her a loser. But it's cute, how she's got this 'first day of school' outfit on. (Surprisingly, it's a pair of jeans, sensible flats, and a light pink button down shirt. Seriously. _Jeans_. "I'm a changed woman, Noah," she said when he commented. Then she gave him this flirty look over her shoulder that made him stop staring at her ass. That's one powerful look, for the record.)

(But yeah, he made her promise that the skirts would still be a staple of her wardrobe.)

"What is man's purpose in life?" the teacher asks. "What is our main job, or the thing we work hardest to attain?"

Rachel's hand shoots straight up in the air.

"To procreate," Puck says at the exact moment Rachel says, "Happiness."

She sends him a dirty look, but whatever. "Those two are pretty much the same thing, right?" he asks. Everyone laughs, but he's not entirely joking.

"Well, Noah, you aren't entirely wrong, I suppose," the teacher concedes. Rachel looks disgusted. He laughs and rubs her shoulder. "And what would you say is the best feeling in the world?"

"Orgasm."

"Love." They speak at the same time, and again, Rachel's glaring at him. "Noah, that is highly inappropriate, and most certainly not what Ms. Anders is getting at."

"'S'a matter of opinion, though," he states, and his brow is furrowed like he thinks he might be onto something. He looks to the front of the class to see the teacher watching he and Rachel. "Right?"

She chuckles a little bit. The rest of the class seems to be actually paying attention to the lesson.

"Yes, Noah, you are correct," Ms. Anders says.

She turns toward the board and starts in on the real lesson, how all these questions relate to the Shakespeare book. ("_Play_," Rachel will later correct him, as if that's gonna help Puck understand this shit any better. What the fuck is iambic pentameter anyway? The only reason he even knows what it's called is because he makes Rachel say it 10 times fast,_ and she does_.)

Rachel is legitimately pouting. He doesn't know if it's because he's somehow embarrassed her (how many people shout out the word 'orgasm' on the first day of school with their girlfriends sitting next to them?) or if she's just pissed that she was wrong.

And because of their last night at the lake (not that cold one, a really hot one when they actually both wore bathing suits and swam properly and Rachel ended up screaming and running to the shore when she swore an eel touched her ankle) and the words they said, he knows he can make her smile.

(It's not easy to forget the way she said it, clear as anything he'd ever heard. "I love you." And it was really weird, how he wasn't scared to say it back to her. Kinda. "Yeah. Me too." And he wasn't even bullshitting. Lord help him, he loves this girl. He can't even blame the summer heat anymore.)

He reaches over and, with his black pen that she'll probably really hate anywhere near her notebook, since it's not a part of her 'colour wheel' or whatever, he writes something in the margin of her page.

(This is either going to pay off huge, or really make her mad. It's always a gamble with her.)

_Orgasm + Love = best ever._

She gasps softly, then looks at him with wide eyes, and he just winks back at her. She shakes her head, reaches for a pink pen, and surprises the hell out of him.

She draws a heart around what he's written.

When the teacher turns her back on the class again, Puck leans over and kisses his girl just below her ear, murmurs something about her being sexy as hell right now, and Rachel just smiles and shrugs him off.

She takes her pink pen and writes in his notebook; _My place. 4:00?_

His hand is on her thigh under the table for the rest of class.

Best first day of school ever.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
